The Heart of Texas
by Anelie Bonnaire
Summary: 'The stars at night, were big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas. The blade so deep, her soul it reaps, deep the heart of Texas. A gunshot wound, under the Christmas moon, deep in the heart of Texas. Reminds her of, the one she loves, deep in the Heart of Texas.'
1. Chapter 1: The Republic of Texas

**A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I would just like to say that yes, I am indeed from Texas, and yes, I support it seceding. But that is not why I wrote this story, I've just had this idea for months and it won't get out of my brain. :) So please, if you can, take the time to review it. I don't care how you review it, in fact if you criticize me I'll take it to heart and try to improve whatever mistakes I make. So, thank you for reading, and I hope y'all enjoy! I used google translate...so any mistakes that are made language-wise can not be fixed by moi. xD And please do not mind the little bit of slang Texas will have. As I said, I am from Texas...so whatever slang she has is something that either me or my family says. It doesn't have to make sense, haha. ;)  
**

* * *

_Location of world meeting: Washington DC, United States of America._

_Date: January third, 2014._

_Time: Ten thirty A.M. Sharp._

* * *

Current time: Ten thirty-five.

* * *

"Where is he?"

"He's-a late, what a good-a first impression on-a the world."

"How do you know he's a boy? What if _she _is a girl?"

"I don't, I just-a think this person would-a not appreciate me calling him or her an _it._"

The countries' representatives spoke quietly to one another in anticipation for the new country's arrival. No one knew this person aside from dear America, who refused to speak to anyone about it. Not even England could persuade the American to speak, and every time he tried it always ended in a door slamming so hard that it broke off of its hinges.

Rumors had spread around the world over the past few weeks on how poor America's little states had decided to rebel against his laws and demands, a few going so far as to threaten to begin another civil war. Some agreed with America's decisions, and other completely and utterly opposed them. None of the states did proclaim war, knowing that it was futile, but the tension between the states and their leader had grown so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

The countries around the world had grown suspicious of America's well-being months before, but none of them had any proof to back them up. America had begun to show signs of civil strife, which fueled the suspicion, and everyone had started to wonder if maybe all of his past mistakes had finally come back to bite him. He never missed meetings (they were mandatory), but over the past few months he began to cease his complaints towards them. In fact, over time he had grown extremely quiet instead of being the loud-mouthed blond everyone knew him to be. A few countries had actually pointed out quietly that they had seen America take quite a few aspirins every few meetings, which was very rare for a country to do since they did not get sick. The only way a country would ever need medicine of any kind, would be if that country was experiencing problems in his or her actual country or its people.

At one point in the world meeting that had been held sometime before the end of November, Italy had brought up an idea about how to solve Syria's problems, which involved a rather muscular superhero and pasta. Alfred spoke up at that moment, but instead of agreeing and adding his own absurd ideas, he glared Italy down and claimed that his idea was childish and idiotic (surprising everyone in the room).

Nobody knew for sure what civil strife America had been experiencing, but they could guess at how bad and troublesome it must have been.

That is...until Christmas Eve, in the year two-thousand and thirteen.

Rumors spread immediately around the world after America's Worldbook post exactly five minutes before Christmas day. Everyone always looked forward to seeing each others' posts on Christmas, especially America and Finland's. However, instead of seeing a happy, joyful, Christmas-filled post, they opened their laptops to find one rather melancholy sentence.

"_I always hated odd numbers, but I suppose I'll have to get used to it now that I only have 49 states. Merry Christmas everyone, spend it with your loved ones."_

Nobody knew which state had seceded, but they each planned on finding out at the first world meeting of the year two-thousand and fourteen. As time went by while they waited for the new country to arrive, each country began watching America and his reactions.

His head was lying on his arms, which were folded atop the large round table in the meeting room. He currently sported a dark green sweater instead of his usual bomber's jacket, and everyone noticed that he was no longer wearing his glasses. None of the countries, except for a few, really cared about America all that much, especially not Russia. However, each of them understood his pain, and at one point each had tried offering some sort of consolation. Russia had even offered America some of his ice cream, but America had turned it down much to everyone's dismay.

"Vell, ve can't exactly start ze meeting vithout everyone," Germany spoke up after a moment of silence. "Does anyone have any ideas on vhere zis new country might be?"

Everyone shook their heads, and America remained silent. Slowly, Mexico raised his hand much to everyone's surprise. If he knew something, why had he not said anything before?

Germany raised an eyebrow, "_Ja_? Do you have any ideas, Mexico?"

Mexico sighed slowly, "Well, she's probably trying to get past security. She's never late for anything, _señor_."

"Wait, you know this new country, _mi amigo_?" Spain spoke up at Mexico's comment, raising a curious eyebrow.

"_Si, España_," Mexico said, before smirking slightly. "So do you."

Spain frowned in confusion, and began to speak when England interrupted, "Who is it? Is it Virginia?"

Of course, England would call out one of the few states he had actually met before.

America groaned and lifted his head up in annoyance, "Virginia would never..."

His voice faltered, and his eyes began to tear up slightly. Of course, he did not cry, but everyone could tell he was in emotional pain.

America's head lowered once more, "It's not Virginia."

"Well then who is it-?"

Everyone froze when a gunshot was heard throughout the building, followed by some muffled yells. Veneziano squealed and clung to Romano at the sound, while everyone else looked around confused.

"What on earth...?" England muttered.

"Ah, _si_..." Mexico smiled awkwardly. "Security...she's never liked it."

"What?" England asked in confusion, before another gunshot was heard, except closer than before.

Footsteps were heard running towards the conference room at an alarming rate, and everyone held their breaths in anticipation and slight fear. Switzerland began to move in front of Liechtenstein, Germany stood and folded his arms as he stared at the door, and America did not move a muscle.

The door slammed open, revealing a rather dishevelled security guard, and he immediately ran behind Germany in fear, "She's gone insane! Save me!"

"GET BACK HERE YOU YANKEE!" a feminine yell was heard throughout the building.

"Vhat is going on here?" Germany demanded.

"Oh...no you didn't," Mexico stood up suddenly, eyes wide. "How did you manage to take her gun?"

Everyone looked at the rather shiny six-shooter in the guard's hands, and he shook in fear, "Guns aren't allowed in the building...so I tried taking it from her, but she wouldn't let me, and she started yelling at me about rights or whatever, and so for about five minutes we tried taking it from her by force, but she's really really strong, and-"

"Okay ve get it! Dummkopf..." Germany muttered, silencing the man.

"Wait...so you managed to _tomar su arma_, and now you are awaiting your oncoming death?" Mexico asked. "If I were you, I'd drop the gun now _amigo_, and run for your life. I speak from personal experience."

"GIVE. ME. MY. GUN!"

Footsteps were heard coming towards the room, and soon a figure appeared in the doorway. Everyone flinched at the rather angry red aura surrounding the figure, and almost did not notice who exactly they were staring at.

She was a young woman, neither short nor tall, and had long, curly, brown hair flowing down her back. She was wearing long dark blue jeans, and had such a thick coat that she nearly resembled an Inuit. She was wearing dark brown cowboy boots, obviously made out of real genuine leather, and on her head she was wearing a black cowboy hat. Her skin was surprisingly pale, but not so much as Germany's, instead only slightly darker than America's. Her eyes were dark brown, and if looks could kill, the security guard would have been a pile of mush on the ground.

The guard squealed in fear, earning a few snickers from random countries.

"...Texas?" England muttered, before smacking his head. "Of course, I'm such a bloody idiot."

"Aye, ye are..." Scotland muttered.

"Oh, come off it!" England groaned.

Texas ignored England, and instead reached her hand out towards the security guard slowly (not minding Germany), "I promise I won't kill you if you give me my gun back. _Now._"

"But miss...it's mandatory not to have any weapons-"

"_NOW."_

"Miss, I'm going to have to a-ask you to stand d-down...and l-let me pass. Y-your gun will be returned to you a-after the m-meeting," the guard stuttered, eyes wide in fear.

Texas stood there, eyes wide in anger, and rigid as a board. After a moment of disbelief, she began shaking in anger.

"_Aye aye aye_..." Mexico muttered, facepalming his head.

"_Oh...I am gonna come up all OVER YOU-"_

Texas was held back by a rather annoyed American, who held her with his arms around her waist tightly. Everyone blinked at his swiftness, as he seemed to have experience holding her back. Texas groaned in disapproval, hitting his arms in frustration. After failing in her attempts (though she did managed to get a few flinches from America), she turned her head slowly.

"Alfred...let go," she muttered.

Everyone stared with wide eyes as she spoke his real name. For a country to speak the other's real name, showed that they had an intimate relationship. Not necessarily sexual, but a true and genuine friendship. Lithuania and Poland used each others' names on occasion, showing that they were indeed good friends. So, the fact that Texas, who had just seceded from America, had just used America's real name, came as a slight shock to the other countries. Alfred, however, merely blinked nonchalantly as though nothing had happened.

"No. You need to let him take your gun, you'll get it back," America said through narrowed eyes. "Quit being a baby, and just deal with it."

"America, it's my_ gun_," Texas complained, folding her arms as America let her go slowly seeing that she had calmed down. "Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ is allowed to take my gun. I want it back, _now."_

America rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Look at Switzerland! He doesn't get to keep his gun, and you don't see him complaining like a baby!"

"Do I look like Switzerland to you? Huh? No! So give me my gun back!"

America rubbed his head, "Texas please-"

"No! America, I need that gun!"

"Why? So you can kill people?" America demanded, glaring daggers at her. "Or maybe so you can just injure them instead!"

Texas froze, her eyes moving down to America's right shoulder. They lingered there, and her throat constricted slightly. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she looked back up, but her eyes shined with tears that had not been there before. She refused to let them fall, and instead her hands balled into fists so tight that her knuckles began to turn white.

"No. I need my gun so I can protect people," she said quietly.

"Who have you been protecting lately?" America sneered, before turning on his heel and storming back over into his chair.

Texas glared at him without another word, and turned to the guard, "Look, please just give me my gun. I'm not one to waste good bullets, so you don't have to worry about me usin' it."

The guard breathed in and out shakily, before slowly handing the gun back, deciding his life was worth it. Texas snatched it back quickly, and tucked it into its holder underneath her coat. The guard ran away quickly, and she glared daggers at his back the entire way.

"Thank you," she muttered, before sitting down in the empty seat besides Mexico.

Everyone stared at her both out of curiosity and fear, but she tried hard to ignore them. Her hands were folding across her chest, and her hat was tipped down slightly to shield her eyes from view. She leaned back in her chair, and pretended that she was unimpressed with everything and everyone.

"Eh..._¡Hola Texas_!" Mexico said with a small smile.

Texas' head turned towards him slowly, "_Callate idiota_."

Mexico sighed with an eye role, hoping to lift her spirits a bit, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. _Si?_"

Texas growled at him in annoyance, while Mexico sighed. It was obvious he was used to this.

"Vell...everyone is here, so I guess ve should start ze meeting, _ja_?" Germany said clearing his throat.

Germany began speaking about the worldly affairs, and soon everyone began to stop staring at Texas and start 'listening' to Germany. During the ten minute break for lunch, a few of the countries began asking Texas questions. A few asked where she lived, and others asked how she knew Spanish. She seemed a tad friendlier than before, now that her gun had been returned to her side. However, she would deny it if any of them when they asked if she and Mexico were friends. It seemed to everyone else that they held a rocky relationship, neither hating nor liking one another.

None of the other countries dared to ask her about their history together, especially after the incident with her gun. They figured that with time, she might open up a bit more, and they might know her better. She seemed a tad nervous, not that she would admit it. Plus, after the way America seemed to be acting, everyone could only guess at what had actually happened between them. No one really thought that the revolution of her country would have bothered her, seeing that she was now free.

"Alright, Texas," Germany began once America had finished his short speech on how he still could not pay back any of his debts. "Since you are new here, zere probably is not much for you to say... However, it is necessary for you to state yourself as a country during your first meeting, so everyone vill know zat if they try to invade, you have ze right to proclaim var."

Texas nodded, and stood up slowly. She reached up and took off her hat, placing it down on the table out of habit. Her brown eyes stared at everyone, including America who was staring at her with a blank expression. Her face was hard, and her eyes showed that despite her young age, she had still experienced enough hardships to know what she was doing. Her eyes showed no fear, and pure determination.

"I hereby announce the reconstitution of The Republic of Texas," she announced clearly, her voice filled with power and bravery.

"And who do you appoint as its representative?" Germany asked scribbling on a piece of paper furiously.

"Me. Samantha Kirkland."

"_Kirkland?"_

_"Wait...who is she?"  
_

_"Which Kirkland?"  
_

_"She's kidding, right?_

Germany paused in his writing to stare at her, but seeing that she was indeed being serious, continued writing down her name. He put the papers inside of a folder, and handed them to Texas._  
_

"Present zem to your boss, und he will know vhat to do," Germany said.

Texas nodded, "Thank you, kindly."

Mexico snickered at her slang, to which she glared at. He knew that her polite nature tended to show when she was nervous, and he could not help but think that it was cute. Cute, as in just plain adorable.

Nobody noticed Mexico take hold of her hand in consolation underneath the table when she sat back down.

Nobody, except America.


	2. Chapter 2: Le Rose Français

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing, I promise you that I read and cherish every one of them. :) Um, just FYI I don't intend on making Mexico like Texas romantically. Just, ya know...throwin' that out there. And I hope, if any of you are British, that you do not laugh at my lack of knowledge about England. I had to continuously look things up, and where they were located...so...yeah. I have actually been to London before, but that was a long time ago. :/ Oh, and I promise that this story really is about Texas...it's just we have to actually get there. I'm actually trying to make this a decent story...especially since it's Beta free. **

**Responses:**

**Fluffy's Lady: I like your name. ;) Anyway, thanks for the review! It's nice to hear an opinion from a fellow Texan, who in all honesty probably knows more about Texas than I do. I have a very...er...interesting ancestry...xD Anyway, yeah the whole 'Kirkland' thing makes no sense at the moment, but I promise I have a reason behind it. Anyway, seriously, thanks for reviewing. ((Hugs))**

**SkrillexFanatic: Thank you for reviewing, also! ((Hugs)) Yeah, being a Texan is awesome, even if the weather here is all over the place. And that's kind of cool that you look like how Texas looks (and or a little creepy xD). **

* * *

The air was cool and crisp in London, England, on a fine Wednesday afternoon. The sky was a dreary, gray color, covered by clouds that threatened to snow down onto the buildings and the bustling people below.

Arthur Kirkland quietly hummed the soft tune of 'God save the Queen' as he stood in a decent sized crowd of people, waiting for the pedestrian walk sign to change from red to green. He huddled subconsciously into his rather thick, woolen sweater, holding a stack of papers in his arms tightly to himself. He had just payed the Queen a visit, discussing the matters of America's current debt. It was all professional, of course. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he enjoyed having tea with her majesty; nothing at all.

The queen understood Arthur's history with Alfred, and she knew that despite what he led others to believe, Arthur wished to help Alfred and America in any way he could. Of course, his wish to help Alfred was personal, and to be quite frank he did not have the money to help. In general, the world's economy in was terrible, not just America's. His own English government was one step away from asking to borrow money from Switzerland, which had the most stable economy at that time. However, even though it wished to remain as neutral as possible, Switzerland was also falling apart.

Cue the end of the world.

Arthur managed to persuade the government, and her majesty, to help out a little. It was not much, especially considering just how terribly deep America was in debt, but it was better than nothing at all. He could at least give Alfred a chance to make it, even though it would be a greatly slim chance. He realized that America was in trouble with his economy a few years back, but he did not know for sure just how bad it was. Then suddenly in the short span of two years, his country nearly crumbled completely. Most of it was civil matters, but his economy was a great factor in the problem.

Arthur sighed sadly as he walked down the streets of London, heading home after a long day's work. He did not actually live in London. In fact, neither he nor his brothers actually lived in their capitols like other country representatives did. He supposed it just ran in his family genes, or something along those lines. Arthur actually lived in a rather large house in Hodder Valley, and had actually been living there for quite some time. The only problem with living there was that he was just a tad closer to his brother, Alistair, than he would have preferred. He and his brothers, also, refrained from taking cabs or any type of vehicles home. Instead, Arthur decided to work off his 'fish n' chips' with a ten mile walk home from the bus stop in Lancashire.

Arthur froze in his footsteps as he came into a small town. His eyes stared blankly at a sign hanging over the doorway of a decently sized building, one that had a light blue exterior design. It had two large glass doors, covered in swirly black designs. Arthur's mouth fell open in disbelief, and suddenly the world's economics no longer mattered for the time being. Over the doorway, on a wooden sign, were elegant black letters spelling out 'Le Rose Français'.

Arthur took in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and began to count to ten. However, instead of calming himself down as expected, his aggravation tripled. He gripped his papers and documents tightly, and with a large huff he trotted down towards the restaurant. What he could not believe, was that his own people, his own _English_ people, were eating at a restaurant that a certain _frog_ owned. So what if it was most likely better in appearance than his restaurants, and so what if it had the slightest chance of tasting better than his own food? Francis Bonnefoy did not understand the _art._..the _love_ that went into preparing British food.

Arthur pushed open the glass doors, purposely not using the handles so that the frog would have to clean the fingerprints off later, and ignoring the hostess, he made a B-line towards the kitchen. Francis was always the one cooking. He was almost _never _seen serving the customers. It was not like Francis did not like being social (in fact he loved it just a tad too much), he just preferred seeing the smiles on peoples faces when they tasted his fine cuisine.

Arthur looked around the kitchen, almost wincing at the way everything was shining, searching for the French man. There were a few assistant chefs working around, paying no mind to the blond man with bushy eyebrows in their presence. What Arthur did not know was that Francis had actually warned the chefs and waiters of him, knowing that the Englishman would catch on to his resteraunt soon enough.

"Oh, _bonjour Angleterre! Puis-je t'aide?"_

_May I help you?_

Arthur spun around in his heels to glare daggers at the blond in front of him, "There you are, you bloody git! What in blazes do you think you're doing, frog?"

Francis merely smiled at Arthur, wiping his flour-covered hands off on a small cloth. Francis blew a stray hair out of his face uncharacteristically, and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why _Angleterre, _I am simply spreading my love throughout your pitiful country through ze art of French Cuisine, _non?_" Francis stated simply, smirking down at the Englishman.

"My pitiful- No. You know what? I'm just going to get down to the basics," Arthur growled angrily. "Get. Out. Of. England. Now."

"Or what, _mon ami?" _Francis pressed, leaning down slightly until he and Arthur were exactly eye-level.

Arthur's face was beet red, and he was shaking angrily. You would think after so many years of these little feuds between he and the Frenchman, he would learn how to control his anger. However, though time could heal many things, his tolerance of the French was not one of them.

"Or I will bloody find Alistair! He doesn't like you either!" Arthur yelled angrily.

"_Hon hon hon,_ now we both know zat is not true," Francis laughed. "You forget of ze alliance between your _frère_ and I."

Arthur's fists balled up, realizing that Francis was right, "Well...crap."

Francis laughed and threw his arm around Arthur in an attempt to both annoy and fluster him, "Worry not, _Angleterre. _I won't- wait...what are zese?"

Francis snatched Arthur's documents away before Arthur could even blink, and no longer than half a second later Arthur was reaching up on his tiptoes to take them back.

"Oi you bloody frog! Give those back immediately, you headcase! Stop this nonsense at once!" Arthur complained as Francis read a paper from above his head. At first Francis was only trying to take away Arthur's papers to annoy him, because it was fun. However, when he caught sight of what the documents and papers actually contained, he could not help but read them in both curiosity and slight worry.

"Wait..._mon ami_..." Francis said, his voice softening slightly as his arms lowered. "Is Amérique in zat much trouble?"

Arthur froze, and looked away with a frown, "Yes. It's much worse than he led us to believe."

"So, how much can you do?" Francis asked softly, handing the papers back.

Arthur sighed, "Not enough. None of us can. We are all in debt to each other in one way or another, and to be quite frank I'm not sure if anyone is really keeping track of 'who-owes-who' anymore. The world is falling apart Francis, for real this time."

"_Oui_, we are old enough to know zat things are not going to end very well for any of us." Francis bit his lip and looked down at the wristwatch on his left wrist, and folded his arms, "I'm closing in about an hour or so. You should stay, _oui_?"

"Why?" Arthur asked with a frown.

"It iz az you 'ave said, everyone iz in debt to each ozer one way or anozer," Francis said avoiding Arthur's gaze, awkwardly. "I am certainly no exception, but I do know that Amérique iz off far worse zan I am. I...I want to help him, and you seem to have a lead start already, _non?"_

Arthur had no desire to sit down and actually have a decent conversation with the Frenchman, but Francis truly did seem to wish to help America. Neither of them could do much, but America could use all of the help it could get. _No._ Alfred F. Jones needed all the help he could get.

"Alright," Arthur agreed after a moment's hesitation. "I'll go home and drop some of these papers off, and then I shall meet you in an hour."

Francis nodded, "_Bien_. I'll see you zen."

Arthur nodded curtly, and then turned to walk out of the restaurant. However, just as he was about to walk out of the door, he turned back around and popped his head into the kitchen and looked at Francis. Francis looked up, and then with an amused smirk, he raised his eyebrow.

"Do not think for one bloody moment that I have not forgotten about that fact that you've just opened a restaurant in _Lancashire of all places._" Arthur growled at the man. "I know for a fact that you only did it to bloody annoy me, you barmy frog!"

Francis chuckled as Arthur turned back around swiftly, and stormed out of the building.

"Ah, _Oui._ Some things will never change," he sighed to himself, pulling out some flour to being preparing some crêpes. "Of course, zese days...perhaps having some things remain ze same is good."

Francis pulled out some eggs from the refrigerator, and began cracking them into a large metal bowl that he had pulled out. He had to pause momentarily in his work, however, to answer the large telephone that began ringing in the kitchen. The kitchen's phone was not the restaurant's number, it was his own. So anyone that would have called on that phone was automatically meant for himself. Francis put the phone up to his ear, and was met immediately with a loud crashing noise.

"_âllo_?" Francis answered, wincing at the background noises from the other end.

"Eh! Alfred don't- Oh, _Bonjour _Papa," a quiet voice spoke on the other line.

"Ah! _Mon petit Matthieu!_" Francis said, his face breaking into an immediate smile. "To what do I owe zis pleasant phone call?"

"Oh, eh...well you see- Alfred, please get off the floor!" Matthew complained as loudly as he could, which in reality was still extremely quiet.

"Matthieu, iz everyzing alright?" Francis asked, growing concerned.

"Oh yes, everything is fine! Well...sort of..." Matthew sighed. "Alfred has decided that he refuses to go back to face his states, who at the moment are throwing things at my house in an attempt to rebel against America. And then there's something going on about his glasses, but he wouldn't answer any of my questions. He's...he's not doing too well, and I honestly have no idea what to do!"

"_Je vois,_ I'll zee what I can do. Are you alright alone for now,_ petit ami?_" Francis asked, frowning.

"I'll be alright, but please hurry. Just because I'm his brother, it doesn't mean that I know him as such," Matthew admitted. "I mean, we grew up so far away from each other...how am I supposed to know? I'm just scared for him, Papa...and I don't know how to help him! Plus, his states are crazy! I think one of them is throwing frogs at my window!"

"Calm down, _Mon ami,"_ Francis shushed him calmly. "Angleterre and I are about to dizcuss certain matters on Amérique. I will inform him of your current situation."

"_Oui, merci Papa,"_ Matthew said softly, as another thud was heard in the background. "Eh! Alfred! Please stop hitting frogs with my hockey sticks, that is _not_ what they are for!"

Matthew hung up, causing Francis to blink for a moment. Matthew's situation must have been pretty bad on his part if it caused him to merely hang up without a goodbye. Francis sighed and put the phone down, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Things really were growing worse by the day.

The phone began to ring once more, and Francis let out a frustrated huff before picking it up, "_Oui?"_

"_Je suis désolé pour raccrochant sur toi, Papa. Au revoir," _Matthew's soft voice spoke once more.

_I'm sorry for hanging up on you, Papa. Goodbye._

Francis chuckled with a soft smile, "_C'est bon, Matthieu. Je vais vous parler plus tard."_

_It's alright, Matthew. I'll talk to you later._

"_Oui,"_ Matthew said before hanging up once more.

Francis hung up the phone again, and then walked back over to work on the crepes he was making. A soft smile adorned his face at the small little action that Matthew delivered. Sometimes the simplest actions could brighten up your entire day, and in Francis' case...Matthew's kind-hearted nature was just what he needed.

Francis sighed once more before returning back to his crepe batter, and tried to look on the positive side of things. For example...

_What is positive about the world today?_

Francis thought for a moment, before smiling softly.

_We have a new country. She is young, perhaps her naive nature and innocence due to age shall save us all from depression. We can only hope._

* * *

Arthur shivered from the chill in the air around him, and his arms curled around himself as he held documents in his hands. He had returned home to drop off some unnecessary papers to discuss with Francis (meaning all of the ones that he had drawn unicorns on), and had decided to put on a dark black trench coat to keep him warm in the nighttime air. Winter in London was never particularly his favorite time of the year. It always seemed to be much more dreary than the rest of the seasons. However, he preferred winter much more than he did summer; specifically July.

Arthur walked up to the French restaurant he had left only an hour before, and noticed that there was only one car left in the parking area. A silver _Bugatti EB 110_ parked alone, and Arthur recognized it as one of Francis' cars immediately. Arthur turned back to the restaurant, and opened the glass doors (once again, intentionally _not_ using the handles). He walked inside to find it completely empty, and had he not known Francis was there, he would have turned around and left. Arthur walked towards the kitchen once more to find the Frenchman putting away a few mixing bowls, humming a soft tune to himself.

Francis turned to find Arthur staring at him, "_Oh, Angleterre! _You are here! Just one moment, _s'il vous plaît_ ."

Arthur nodded, "Where should we...?"

Francis walking over towards Arthur, and pointed towards a decently sized table, "Over zere."

Arthur nodded once more and walked over towards the table. He sat down on one of the four, wooden chairs, thankfully cushioned with red cushions. Arthur squirmed in the seat, not liking the way it felt at all. It was so comfortable that it nearly felt as though it were squishing up from under him, and copping a feel. It was just so...French.

The restaurant itself was very lovely, Arthur had to admit. It was not extremely fancy like some of the other French Bistros and restaurants he's seen before, but it was most certainly not dull (nothing France ever did himself was dull). The tables were each adorned in white table cloths, and had vases with red roses. There was a single chandelier on the ceiling, but since the ceiling on this certain building was not very high (odd for a French restaurant), it was relatively small in comparison to others. The walls were white, decorated lightly with golden designs, and had a golden trim.

Arthur felt rather uncomfortable to be there, but the situation with America was far too important to pass up. As much as he did not wish to befriend the Frenchman, Alfred was worth it. He was far too young to experience such turmoil, and perhaps he could learn from his mistakes if he made it through.

"_Voici, nous voilà," _Francis said walking over to the table, with a tray full of food.

Arthur's eyes widened, "You...you cooked dinner for me?"

Francis looked up, honestly confused, "_Oui,_ you are my guest, _non? _I am not so rude az to ask someone over to dizcuss matters that might take longer than an hour, and not offer them _ma merveilleuse cuisine française."_

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh, never mind. You're just trying to brag about how wonderful you are, as per usual."

"Well if you are not hungry-"

"Give me the bloody food!"

Francis smirked and placed a bowl of soup in front of Arthur, "I decided to make soup, since it iz so cold outside today. I did not make anything too spectacular, knowing how picky you can be sometimes."

Arthur sighed as some bread was placed in front of him as well, knowing full well that even though Francis said he did not make anything too spectacular, he probably spent the whole hour Arthur had been gone to perfect it. Besides, even though Arthur would not admit it, some of the lowliest foods France had to offer were much better in comparison to the foods that England had at the time. There was a time where England's food was enjoyable, but that was 'many moons ago'. Now, to be quite frank, Arthur really didn't care.

France poured some wine into the two wine glasses that sat on the table, carefully making sure not to drip any onto the tablecloth, lest it stain. Arthur looked at the wine, almost drooling inwardly in anticipation. It had been so long since he'd had any decent wine to drink, simply because he did not care to spend one-hundred pounds for some fermented grapes. Francis looked up at Arthur as he set the wine glass down, and then he squinted in a mocking sort of way.

"I purposely chose ze cheapest wine here," Francis said, and had he not been such an old country with a fair amount of pride, he would have stuck his tongue out. "I did not care to waste such expenzive loveliness on someone who can not tell ze difference between crepes and pancakes."

Arthur folded his arms with a slight pout, "It's not my fault, they taste the same to me!"

"But zey look completely different, _non_?" Francis nearly exclaimed. "Besides, crepes are so delicate, like rose petals~"

Arthur sighed, "Look, let's just...get this over with, shall we? I would rather we did not lolly-gag around, because I have places to be."

"Oh _oui,"_ Francis teased. "I would not dare intrude upon your _embroidery."_

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but turned scarlet as he realized he did not have any good comebacks, "Please Francis, I do not have time for this."

Francis nodded, "You are right, _Angleterre,_ Let's just get zis over with."

Arthur placed the documents he had of America's current economic situation, and the documents which showed how much money and help England could offer. There were so many papers with so many meaningless words, and yet so little help came from any of them. Arthur laid a few important ones on the table, and pointed out a few key points to Francis. They both managed to have a decent conversation with one another while eating the delicious food set before them.

"So zat is all?" Francis asked, concern washing over his face.

Arthur nodded while rubbing his temples in frustration, "Yes, and it took me _weeks _to convince my government officials to even think of providing _this_ much."

Francis sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking a small sip of wine while skimming over the documents before him. He and Arthur had been staring at documents for over an hour, and Francis was beginning to see the reasons Arthur was so tired and frustrated.

"I do not know how much help I will be able to offer him, _Angleterre, _but I will see what I can do," Francis said. "My economic state at ze moment isn't ze greatest, so hopefully that will be a distraction to my officials, _non_?"

Arthur smirked, "Are you suggesting that you are going to steal from your own country to help Alfred?"

Francis grinned, "It iz not stealing if it iz _my_ country. But if it iz Alfred, zen _oui._"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Whatever you do is not my problem, as long as we help."

Francis nodded, "I will talk it over-"

Francis cut himself off as he noticed an untouched paper underneath a few others, but Arthur did not notice. Francis pulled out the paper to examine it, while Arthur began to rant about Alfred once more.

"He's just so young, he shouldn't have to deal with all of this rubbish," Arthur complained and looked up at Francis. "Did we have to deal with this when we were his age- what is that?"

Arthur sat up straight in his chair, his eyes widening slightly. Francis quirked an eyebrow and looked up at Arthur over the paper he had skimmed over.

"So," Francis began, sipping his wine nonchalantly. "Texas has no need of your assistance, _non?"_

"Give me that, frog!" Arthur snatched the paper away and placed it beside him, "I though I took those papers out."

Francis smirked, "You never did explain the _désordre_ on a certain Samantha _Kirkland."_

"I don't have to explain myself to you, nor do I wish to," Arthur said simply. "It's none of your business, so just keep your nose out of it."

"So, is she your new _s__œur?_" Francis asked. "Or perhaps your secret _Femme Cheri_?"

"She is neither, and it is none of your concern!" Arthur said, turning scarlet.

"Oh, well if _mon cher ami, Angleterre_ will not tell me, zen perhaps I should just go ask her myself, _non?"_ France said with such innocence that if his eyes did not give him away, he could have rivaled Feliciano. "Perhaps invite her to dinner. 'Ave a few glassez of wine-"

Arthur reached over across the table and grabbed Francis' neck roughly, his emerald green eyes shining with a light that Francis' had not seen in many years. Sometimes he forgot that Arthur could indeed be quite strong if provoked a certain way at just the right time.

"_You stay the bloody hell away from her, frog, or I will castrate you and make sure that you are never able to feel your 'Eiffel tower' again."_

Francis merely smirked at Arthur (though he was in fact quite terrified), "So she iz your daughter, _mon cher?"_

Arthur blinked, and sat back down with a huff, "It doesn't matter. Just stay away from her."

"I did not zink you had it in you, _mon ami!_" Francis laughed while pouring Arthur one more glass of wine. "All of zese years zat I 'ave made fun of you, you actually had a _fille_? Why didn't you say anyzing?"

Arthur's eyes softened, and his harsh gaze became slightly sad, "Why would I?"

Francis frowned, confused.

"If I had told you, or anyone else for that matter, that I had a daughter..." Arthur began with a sigh. "She would have been a target for everyone far more than she already was, and she would have been hurt. She may be strong now, but she wasn't quite so strong then."

Francis was reminded of his beloved Seychelles at that moment, and suddenly felt a wave of understanding wash over him. He had to admit, Arthur was much stronger than he appeared. To keep yourself away from your own daughter for centuries just to protect her, must have taken a lot of effort and emotional trauma.

"You 'ave a point," Francis nodded, then he frowned. "But how on earth did you...I mean...how is she your daughter? I don't recall any countries ever actually being able to 'ave children."

Arthur smirked, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, frog."

Francis rolled his eyes, "Try me. I am just az old az you are, _Angleterre, _and I know you well enough to be able to tell when you are joking."

Arthur pursed his lip, "Hm, no. That is my business."

Francis sighed, knowing full well that Arthur would not tell him, "Fine."

Arthur scratched the back of his head, "Er...well, yes. So, got any ideas about America, frog?"

Francis' eyes shot up to look at Arthur, "Ah, _oui._ I nearly forgot to tell you zat Matthew phoned in earlier, and said that Alfred waz currently...well let us just say zat he seems to be 'aving some sort of 'state-related-problems'."

Arthur's eyebrows pressed closer together, "Really? Where?"

"At _Mon petit Matthieu's_ house, I believe," Francis said whilst rubbing the stubble on his chin in thought. "And zere was something about glasses and frogs, but I waz distracted by ze sound of banging and crashing."

"...Glasses?" Arthur asked. "Hm, well we should probably go see what's wrong then."

"_Oui,_" Francis agreed.

* * *

The snow that had been cascading down from the heavens and onto the country of England did not cease when Arthur Kirkland left. In fact, it seemed to spread all the way across the Atlantic ocean, following Arthur's plane. The entire ride to Canada was dreary, but of course Arthur was used to it. He had hoped that perhaps the weather might have warmed up, but it seemed that General Winter had other plans.

"Zis plane food iz...well it iz..." Francis began to complain once more about the airplane components. "It iz terrible."

"It is airplane food, what did you expect?" Arthur said rubbing his temples.

"We are in first class!" Francis exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

"Oh, well I'm sorry if _normal_ people don't eat frogs and snails," Arthur said, his eyes narrowing.

Francis was just about to retort when a calm, female voice sounded throughout the plane, "_We have reached Ottawa, Canada. Please fasten your seat belts as we prepare to land, and remain seated until we have come to a complete stop. Thank you for choosing 'British Airway'!"_

"She soundz much more cheerful zan most of ze other English people I've met," Francis muttered.

Arthur glared at Francis, "Well at least my people aren't all shagging and such!"

Francis stared at Arthur, "...I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me!" Arthur growled. "You're people are- Oh crap we're going down!"

Francis rubbed the bridge of his nose, "We are suppozed to be going down, you silly person!"

"I know, but my ears are popping again!" Arthur muttered, rubbing his ears furiously. "I hate flying, so bloody much..."

"Ah yes, a man of ze seas, _non?"_ Francis smirked.

Arthur could not possible argue with that statement, especially since his heart skipped a beat at hearing those words.

The plane landed soon after, and the two men made their way out the plane. As they stepped outside, the freezing, Canadian air seemed to hit them like an arctic blast. The warmth they had felt from the plane left them immediately, and they shivered.

"Oh, I feel so bad leaving my dear Canada out here like zis!" Francis said. "Maybe I should ask him to stay with me in ze winter..."

"He wouldn't leave," Arthur said. "It is his country."

Francis shrugged, "I'll ask anyway."

Arthur and Francis walked through the tunnel towards the airport, and were met by several employees along the way, each one of them smiling widely. It was blatantly obvious that Canadians were, no doubt, much more friendly than the British; or at least, Arthur Kirkland.

As the two foreigners waited for their luggage to arrive on the carousel, a small voice spoke out in the bustling airport. If Francis and Arthur had not been paying attention, they might have just missed it. However, they did not miss the voice, and the Canadian accent was automatically recognizable.

"Hello," Matthew said as he walked up to the two men, "I'm glad you two made it here safe, eh?"

Arthur nodded politely, "Indeed, though I do hope my bag has not been lost... I had an original copy of 'The Chamber of Secrets' in there."

Francis rolled his eyes, before looking down at Matthew with concern, "_Mon cher,_ you should 'ave told me 'ow cold it is 'ere! You know I will alwayz 'ave a place for you to stay, should you ever come to France."

Matthew smiled, happy that someone actually cared about his well being, "It's fine, Papa, really. Although, I think the reason you find it so cold is because of your...er...clothes."

Francis looked down at his usual attire, and pursed his lip, "What iz wrong with my clothes_, sont-ils trop désagréable?_"

Matthew sighed, "Papa, you are wearing a thin blue suit, some red tights, and a capelet about as thin as paper. I'm surpised you aren't a popsicle."

Francis turned slightly red, "Well, it iz not quite as cold in Paris as it iz here."

"I know for a fact that it get's cold enough to wear something warmer than _that_ in Paris, Papa," Matthew chided with a small smirk. "You just can't stand wearing sweaters, and you know it."

Francis frowned, "Sweaterz make everyone look fatter zan normal. And zey are always so itchy, _non?"_

"Aha! My luggage has arrived!" Arthur exclaimed, grabbing the bag before it could disappear on the carousel. "Well, I suppose we are done here?"

Matthew tilted his head slightly, "You aren't looking very warm either, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur shrugged, "I've become rather used to feeling cold and wet."

Matthew sighed, "Come on, I may have some spare coats in my car."

* * *

"And he has been this way for how long?"

Francis and Arthur had arrived at Canada's house, which was just outside of Ottawa. It was a very nice two-story house, but it still held a warmth to it that most countries' houses lacked. Of course, it could have just been the fireplace.

The two guests had settled in quickly, Francis going to the room he usually used when visiting Matthew, and Arthur on the couch. Matthew apologized for not having another spare room for Arthur multiple times, but Arthur waved it off saying it was just fine. After they settled their sleeping arrangements, Matthew led the two upstairs to one out of the two spare rooms that he owned. The one that Alfred F. Jones currently resided in.

The three of them found the American curled up in a ball, underneath a mountain of comforters, on the guest bed. He did not move a single muscle, but Arthur knew for certain that the American knew they were there. Arthur always knew when Alfred was pretending to sleep; he had gained that ability during Alfred's childhood.

"Well, at least he's not breaking everything in sight," Matthew muttered. "And the states are gone for the moment, but I have no doubt that they will be back tomorrow."

"Then I suppose we shall stick around the house tomorrow, and try and find out what exactly they want," Arthur said.

Arthur took another good look around the room, and noticed that almost everything was indeed broken or torn. There were a pile of broken hockey sticks in a corner, one of them covered in shards of glass, and there were random piles of laundry scattered across the floor. Arthur frowned when he noticed the many, many _Twinki _wrappers amongst the clothes; at least two hundred of them.

"I thought they weren't making these anymore?" Arthur said picking up a wrapper and showing it to Matthew.

Matthew chuckled softly, his voice not holding any sort of amusement, "He stocked up on them when he heard that they weren't making anymore. He has an entire room full of Hostess products, I've seen it. It's the only thing he's been eating since he got here."

Arthur looked back at the huddled form that was Alfred, and felt his throat choke up a tad. He knew better than anyone what it was like to have someone you cared for, more than anything in the entire universe, leave you behind and break your heart. He had gotten over the American Revolutionary War, or at least as much as he figure he was going to, but he could still feel the heartache Alfred must have been feeling along with real physical pain. To have part of you ripped away...it felt as though your entire being was being relentlessly tortured and abused until you finally split in half.

Besides the physical pain Alfred was experiencing, it was obvious the meaning of his current depression ran deeper than one would expect.

"Let me speak with him," Arthur spoke up softly. "I'll see if I can manage to get through to him."

Matthew nodded, "Alright, I'll go make some pancakes. Come on, Papa, you can help, eh?"

Francis nodded, "_Oui."_

The two exited the room, shutting the door quietly. Arthur flipped on the light switch, which had previously been turned off, and began to make his way through the river of clothes and _Twinki_ wrappers.

Arthur sat down next to Alfred's curled form, and places his hand on what he assumed was Alfred's left shoulder.

"Alfred," Arthur said calmly. "I know you are awake."

Alfred made no response, not even a single movement.

"Alfred, please, talk to me," Arthur said softly. "You know you can tell me anything, I'll always be here for you."

Alfred grumbled something incoherent in response, and shifted away from Arthur.

Arthur sighed, "Alfred lying there and moping about is not going to help you."

"It's better than going out there."

Arthur paused, slightly surprised at Alfred's sudden response, "What do you mean?"

"Everyone...outside wants to leave," Alfred said softly. "And the worst part is, I can't blame 'em."

Arthur frowned, "Who?"

"My states."

Arthur nodded in realization, "I see. So tell me exactly how lying here and not doing anything is going to help?"

Alfred wriggled slightly, "I...I don't know...I don't know anything anymore! My life is hopeless!"

"Your life is most certainly _not _ hopeless," Arthur said. "Your life was hopeless during the depression, and yet you managed to make it through that alright."

"That was different."

"How was it any different?" Arthur asked, becoming slightly exasperated.

"Because Texas was there," Alfred said before shutting his mouth tightly, and cursing inwardly to himself.

Arthur froze upon hearing those words spill out of Alfred's mouth, and his eyes widened. At that very moment he realized that the situation Alfred was currently in was much different than his own situation during the Revolutionary War. Sure, Arthur was heartbroken afterward, but not for the same reason Alfred was moping about at that moment.

"You...really care about her, don't you?" Arthur asked softly.

Alfred was hesitant to answer. He sat up slowly, blankets pooling around him, revealing some rather nasty wounds on his chest, "Of course I do, I've known her since we were kids. I've always been there for her, and she's always be there for me...up until recently, anyway."

Arthur took one good, long look at Alfred. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, he seemed a tad thinner than he did at the meeting a while before, and he obviously had not shaven in quite a long while. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, and they were a dull gray color instead of the usual American flag print. His chest and arms were covered in bruises, but what caught Arthur's eye was the rather large scab on Alfred's right shoulder. The scab itself was scarlet in color, and the veins surrounding it were an extremely apparent, blue color. Wounds did not usually take long to heal when it came to nations, so Arthur recognized _that_ wound straight away as _not_ normal.

Arthur had a very good idea on how that wound got there.

"Alfred, I know for a fact that Samantha does not hate you," Arthur said with a slightly tight jaw. "She just hates being told what to do, is all. She's always been like that...so prideful. I swear Alistair is a terrible influence."

Alfred nodded feebly, "Yeah."

Arthur sat up and held out his hand, "Come on, let's go downstairs. You need to eat some proper food."

Alfred stared at the hand that was offered to him, and his expression turned blank, "I'm not very hungry."

"I don't care, you're eating anyway," Arthur said sternly. "Look, I know things look rough now, but I promise it will all get better in due time. It always does, and I am old enough to able to tell you that."

Alfred looked back up at Arthur with a sad expression, "Things are worse than rough, Arthur, even I can see that. And...and they are just getting worse instead of better."

Arthur folded his arms, and his bushy eyebrows narrowed over his eyes, "Well, you have two choices you may make, Alfred. You may either sit here and hope that all of your problems simply blow away in the wind, or you can get up off your bloody a_rse _and at least try to do something about it!"

Alfred blinked up at Arthur in slight surprise. Arthur was known to yell at Alfred for being stupid, but he had not scolded Alfred in such a long time that Alfred had forgotten how demeaning it felt. Arthur's stern words, however, helped Alfred to see just how dramatic and childish he was behaving. Alfred seemed childish to other people often, but that was simply because their etiquette and personalities differed from his. However, Alfred truly was acting adolescent at that moment, and he immediately felt rather embarrassed for it. After all, the only reason the American Revolutionary War had started was because Alfred wanted to show Arthur that he could actually take care of himself, and that he was not a child anymore. If he could not even handle Texas rebelling against him then he really had not proven anything to Arthur at all.

Alfred sighed loudly, "Fine. You're right. I should do something."

Arthur's eyes widened, "Oh...yes! Yes, of course you should!"

He did not actually think that little speech would work.

Alfred gave Arthur a small smile as he stood up from the bed, "Yeah, I am the hero after all. If I can't save anyone, who can?"

With those words of wisdom, Alfred exited the room and towards the smell of Pancakes.

Arthur stood there with a dumbfound expression, and then chuckled to himself, "Yes. And the sad part about that is...you're probably right."

He stared at the doorway for a moment, and sighed.

"Just...don't try and do it alone."

* * *

Dark brown eyes scanned the completely white area. The blanket of snow that covered the ground sparkled in the sunlight, yet refused to melt. The temperature was below freezing, and there was no wind. The fields of snow stretched for miles, and everything was eerily silent and calm.

Brown, leather boots kicked at the snow curiously, and brown eyes watched as it fluttered back to the ground gracefully.

The brown eyes narrowed in confusion, and stared out at the fields of snow once more.

"...'The hell is this crap doin' in Texas?"


	3. Chapter 3: The Southern States

**Thank you all for your reviews, I seriously love them to death. ^_^ And yes, I know the whole 'Kirkland' thing is confusing. However, if I don't do it, then this story won't work. I believe I have found the loop hole, however! XD I am trying to be as realistic (history-wise) as possible, so I have been doing nonstop research the past couple of weeks. However, this IS fanfiction, and to be quite honest with you, Hetalia really isn't always very accurate at all. So, for my story, all I can say is that I am not going to 'throw history out the window'...BUT I probably will end up 'adding some extra history' so to speak. ((Shrugs)) Just wait and see. ;)**

**Also, if I get any 'state stereotypes' wrong, please let me know. I did my best. I also have no idea if this is even remotely accurate, but I really do see Mississippi holding a cast iron pan as a weapon. :3 Also, if anyone from other states reads this and is offended, please remember that this is a **_**Hetalia**_** fan fiction, and Hetalia is very stereotypical and a little racist. For example, yes, I live in America and technically am an American...but I seriously **_**loath**_** McDonald's. Seriously.**

_**Oh, and constructive criticisms and opinions are appreciated.**_

* * *

One of Arthur's large eyebrows twitched as another crash of what sounded like some sort of pottery hit the side of Matthew's house. Yelling ensued quickly after the crash, causing Arthur to grit his teeth in annoyance. He tried to distract himself by skipping to the end of his Harry Potter book and reading one of his most favorite scenes, the one where Harry saves Ginny, but he simply could not focus on it because of all the ruckus outside.

"Please stop throwing things at my house!" Matthew tried to yell out the window.

The folks down below were having none of that, and simply continued to throw food and pottery at the sides of the house. At one point he heard some frog croaks, which in all honesty may have been humorous if it were not for the situation.

Francis sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Honestly, now I zee why Alfred haz been trying to avoid zem, _non?"_

Arthur gripped his book tightly while trying to keep his anger in check, "Why in the bleeding hell are they taking it all out on Matthew's house?"

"They are trying to lure him out," Matthew sighed. "They've been doing this for about three days, now."

When a live chicken was thrown up through the open window and into the house, Arthur absolutely lost it. He flung his book onto the ground and stormed over towards the window. His expression was murder itself.

"WILL YOU BLOODY IDIOTS STOP THROWING FOOD AND POTTERY ALL OVER THE PLACE LIKE A BUNCH OF NEANDERTHALS? I AM TRYING TO READ!" He screamed down at them.

Arthur had not actually seen the people who had been flinging objects and yelling curses, but when he did he realized exactly who they must be. He thought that it was simply American citizens, or even American politicians, but the closer he looked at them he saw that they were the states themselves. Not many of them were actually there, but their number did not make them seem any less intimidating.

He had seen a few of them before, so he could see just which states were this angry at Alfred.

There was a man in the front with a pitchfork in his hands, and he had wavy brown hair, big blue eyes, some stubble, and was wearing farmers clothes. Arthur knew that was Nebraska, seeing as how his daughter seemed to hang out with him sometimes.

Next to him was a girl with a bucket of frogs, and he realized that she was indeed throwing frogs at the wall. She had dirty blond hair (that he thought may actually be dirty), navy blue eyes, tan skin, and was wearing what appeared to be camouflage pants, a green tank top, and rain boots. How she was not freezing to death Arthur did not know. However, he did recognize this girl as Louisiana, because apparently Samantha thought that she made the best 'fried frogs legs' in the world.

Arthur was slightly disappointed that his daughter seemed to enjoy frogs legs; a remnant of when France had had an influence on her, no doubt.

Besides Louisiana was a young, negro woman wearing a bright blue dress, and curly black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She had bright brown eyes, and she seemed nice enough except for the rather large, cast iron pan that she held, which reminded Arthur exceedingly of Hungary. He recognized her as Mississippi because they had actually met before, and Samantha had told him many times before that her catfish was like heaven itself. Of course, Samantha loved catfish anyway, but apparently Mississippi catfish was the best.

On the other side of Nebraska was another young man, who was wearing a cowboy hat, had a rifle, and was also wearing farmers clothes. One might have actually thought _he_ was the state of Texas if they did not know better, but Arthur knew immediately who this man was because he was neighbors with his daughter. There had been times when Arthur had been invited over the phone to go 'lasso tornadoes' with his daughter and the personification of Oklahoma. For a long time Arthur could not figure out if his daughter actually liked the boy, because when he had first seen Oklahoma, the two states had been yelling at each other about who was going to win football that year. Well...at least what they _called_ football...it was not actually proper_ football._

Stupid America.

All in all, it seemed that the majority of state representatives were Southerners, save for Nebraska, which explained all of the yelling. He wished Virginia was there. She was living proof that a southern state could be kind, and polite...unlike the hooligans who stood before him.

The states stared up at him blankly, not sure whether to yell back at him or listen. Arthur took the opportunity to talk, because he knew that if he waited too long he would not have a chance.

"Alright, who threw the bloody chicken?" Arthur growled out. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would remove it."

"Er, that would be me," A young girl with yet another pair of farmers clothes, and brown hair pulled into a bun.

"And who are you?" Arthur asked curiously.

"I'm Kansas! Ya know, like the Wizard of Oz?" Kansas said with a small smile.

"Yeah...and beef's for dinner," Oklahoma laughed.

Kansas whacked him on the top of the head, "Oh hush. At least people don't think I'm Texas."

Oklahoma's eyes narrowed at that, but said nothing.

"Oh yeah...Texas this, Texas that," Nebraska said with an eye roll. "Everythin's bigger in Texas ya know, includin' her ego."

"Hey, be nice," Louisiana said. "Texas is not any worse than any of you idiots."

"Think about it, Louise," Nebraska said with a huff. "Which states do tourists want to visit when they come to America? Florida, California, New York, _Texas... _Need I go on?"

"Actually, I get a lot of tourists too-" a young man with tan skin and sun kissed blond hair spoke up quietly.

"Shut it, Arizona, nobody wants to hear you rant on about your 'Grandios Canyon' again!" Nebraska said.

"Nebraska be nice!" Kansas said in disapproval. "The Grand Canyon is pretty cool..."

"Yeah, but that's all he ever talks about!" Oklahoma chipped in. "Isn't there something else cool about Arizona?"

Arizona stood there awkwardly for a moment, "Well...I've got some parks...and there are some pretty freaking cool rocks that you can find-"

"Okay, so there's nothing," Oklahoma said. "Fair enough."

"Would you all please quit rambling on about tourism, and explain why you are throwing food and rather nice looking china at the wall?" Arthur asked with a huff.

"We want Alfred to get his butt down here, before I drag it down!" Mississippi yelled, raising her pan.

"Yeah! We're tired of him treatin' us like we're his servants!" Nebraska said.

Arthur turned around and looked into the room to see what the others were currently doing. Alfred was sitting there in a chair staring at Arthur in deep thought. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, because he knew full well that Alfred just heard that entire conversation. He tried avoiding his states long enough, and it was time to finally settle things once and for all.

Alfred stood up and slowly walked towards the window, and then peeked his head out with a frown, "What?"

"Get your ass down here!" Oklahoma yelled.

"Hmmm...no," Alfred said folding his arms. "I'm not talking to any of you, because you are all acting like idiots."

"Oh haha, like you are one to talk!" Mississippi yelled angrily.

"Look, I know I've messed up big time, but I'm not talking to any of you until you agree to act like adults!" Alfred yelled down angrily.

Arthur stared at Alfred in disbelief. In all of his life, he had never seen Alfred act so stern and angry towards his states. During the Revolutionary War the few that had existed had been by his side the entire time, and during the Civil War he helped everyone settle things out while they fought. Not once had he ever seen Alfred yell at them like he was yelling now, nor had he ever seen Alfred act like an adult.

"He's right," Kansas said touching Nebraska's arm to get him to calm down a little. "We can't settle anything until we agree to actually talk it out."

"Yeah," Another state chipped in. This one was a girl with bright blond hair.

"Yeah, remember the civil war? We don't want another on'a those, do we?" Louisiana said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh please, like you'd do anything if there was one," Oklahoma said. "You'd be too busy wrestling alligators in yer giant swamp of a state!"

"Hey, I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to shoot your butt cheeks off if there was another war," Louisiana said with a glare. "You seem to need the discipline."

"Nah, Sam would beat'cha to it!" Arizona grinned. "You know how she can get."

"No she wouldn't, because she's too good to be a state anymore," Nebraska said with a frown. "'Cause, ya know...who'd want that?"

"She started off as a country, so you can't really blame her," Mississippi said. "She was annexed, and we all knew it would only be a matter o' time 'til she went off on her own again.

"Yeah, but now it's like we don't even exist in her life anymore!" Nebraska frowned. "I don't think anyone has even _seen_ her since that world meetin', or whatever."

"So that's what this is about..." Louisiana said with a smirk. "Y'all all miss her, dont'cha?"

Oklahoma shrugged, "She's cool to hang out with. Besides, it's not the same tippin' cows by yourself..."

"Yeah, and she always thought my Grand Canyon was cool-"

"SHUT UP ABOUT THE DANG CANYON ALREADY!" Nebraska and Oklahoma yelled.

Arizona muttered to himself as the rest of the states looked amongst each other silently. Some of the more northern states, like Montana, did not really relate to Texas as well as the Southerners did, but some of them did miss hanging out with her on occasion. Sure, her accent could be hard to understand at some points, but then again they all had strange accents that were hard to understand. And of course, she would make fun of practically everything and everyone she saw, and at times she could be considered racist, but she made fun of herself just as often. Plus, she was a great ally to have in a war. She was always loyal to her friends, and she always treated them like family. Samantha Kirkland was one of those 'best friends' that would get you into trouble, but would stick by your side the entire way.

After her secession, however, she did not really have time to spend with anyone. At first everyone sighed in relief because she was always complaining about their decisions for their state, how they were always wrong, and how _she_ was always right. Yes, Texas was clever and smart, but sometimes her pride could get the better of her to the point that she literally disagreed with any decisions that the other states made. Most of the states loved her to death, but she could be a handful.

After a few weeks, however, they realized just how dull it had become without Texas hovering over their shoulder and pointing out mistakes like a teacher. Depression was slowly sinking in. Besides, Texas was always the first to speak up when they thought one of Alfred's decisions was wrong. So, when Texas seceded, Alfred and his government made stupid decisions nonstop, but nobody ever said anything because Texas had always been the one to do it for them.

One day they finally had enough of it, and decided that they would do the first thing they could think of.

Threaten to secede themselves.

Of course, none of them really wanted to secede, they just wanted to be heard like in the old days.

They realized at that moment, standing out in the freezing snow, that then was as good a time as ever to settle things once and for all. There was no doubt that the United States government was pretty much screwed, but they would try and recover as much as possible...one baby step at a time.

"Alright," Oklahoma said. "Let's talk."

* * *

"Ha ha, and remember the time she couldn't say 'Arkansas'?"

"Yeah, she kept sayin' 'Our Kansas'! To this day she still calls you 'my Kansas', don't she?"

"Teehee, yeah she does."

Arthur smiled at the group of states who were chatting happily amongst themselves. They had yet to actually discuss any political matters, but at least for a moment everyone seemed to be getting along. As it turned out, the states of America argued about as often as the countries did during world meetings.

Arthur fiddled with the documents he had fetched from his suitcase, knowing that they might come in handy later on. Alfred was nowhere to be seen. The last Arthur had seen of him had been when a large brown-haired man known as 'Georgia' reeled him away from the crowd of people, and locked themselves in the bathroom. Arthur did not dare even ask them what they were doing, but Mississippi assured him that 'George' was probably just making sure Alfred was okay.

Everyone was sitting around the dinner table Matthew owned, and were all patiently awaiting Alfred and Georgia's return. Well, as patient as the United States of America could be. Matthew was currently in the kitchen, whipping up some hot chocolate for everyone. He figured they must all be freezing, especially since they were southern states.

Arthur sat beside Francis at the table, and for the first time in his life he was grateful to have the frog next to him. He was comfortable with the familiar presence next to him even if he would never admit it.

On his left sat Mississippi, who in all honesty was much friendlier when she was not angry. She continuously offered to cook something, but Matthew (being the generous host that he was) refused kindly.

Arthur turned when he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, and was relieved to see that Alfred seemed unharmed. Arthur had never met Georgia before, so he did not know if the man was kind or not. Alfred quickly sat down in an open seat in front of Arthur, while Georgia sat down next to Mississippi.

"Well?" Nebraska asked while Matthew placed cups of hot chocolate in front of states.

Georgia took in a deep breath, "It's worse than we thought."

"How so?" Louisiana asked.

"You should have seen all of the marks on 'im!" Georgia said with a worried glance towards Alfred. "Texas definitely _did not _go easy this time."

Louisiana buried her face in her hands, "Wonderful. If I had known it was this bad..."

Kansas patted her back comfortingly, "None of us did, it's alright."

"Yeah," Nebraska agreed. "It ain't our fault no one tells us nothin'."

"Anything," Arthur corrected.

Nebraska stared at Arthur with a blank expression, "Whut?"

Arthur shook his head, "Never mind. So, what's so terrible about having marks? That's highly common after a war or secession, you know. And it is most certainly not the first time Alfred has ever been scarred."

"Yeah, but he hasn't exactly been scarred much by _us_," Louisiana explained. "Sure we have our little feuds, but we've never actually gone out of our way to hurt him."

"Exactly, and it doesn't help that Texas doesn't talk to us anymore," Oklahoma muttered. "For example, I went over to her house last week because there was this cool football documentary coming on-"

"Ooh, she loves those!" Kansas said with a smile.

"Yeah, I know," Oklahoma said with a frown. "Anyway, I went over _personally_ to her house to ask her, and she said no. But not only did she say she did not want to come, she was staring at me with this really weird expression on her face. And she looked kinda sick, like she hasn't been eating anything lately."

"Weird expression?" Louisiana asked curiously.

"Yeah, kind of like when Alaska stares at you," Oklahoma shuddered. "Oh his eyes..."

"Alaska is one creepy dude," Nebraska agreed.

"You're strayin' away on the subject," Mississippi said with a frown.

"Right. Sorry," Oklahoma said.

"Oh, Matthew this cocoa is really good!" Kansas complimented with a smile. "We should come visit you more often!"

Matthew blushed, "As long as you don't throw stuff at me."

"Guys! Really! We need to talk about our problems, not cocoa!" Louisiana said sternly. "Look at Alfred! He's obviously covered in wounds, and apparently Sam is actin' weird!"

"Yeah, and those damn Yankees up north are threatening to start another war," Oklahoma muttered.

"Exactly!" Louisiana said.

"Of course they're threatenin'! But they are all just a bunch of wusses, they won't do anything!" Nebraska said with a frown.

"I dunno," Kansas said, curling in on herself slightly. "New York can be kinda scary sometimes..."

"You fought on her side last time!" Louisiana said, nudging Kansas slightly. "What are you so scared of?"

"You know how she gets," Kansas said. "She switches sides on people depending on who she's mad at most, or whoever mentions that 'Lady Liberty' was originally French..."

"Eh, New York's a pansy," Mississippi said. "All she cares 'bout is money. She couldn't care less if we started another war."

Kansas sighed, "I suppose."

"Yeah, but what about New Jersey? He's a little ball of fire-" a state that Arthur did not recognize spoke up.

"Hold on," Arthur interrupted. "Pardon my interruption, but I honestly have no idea which states I am speaking to. So if you would please state your names, that would be much appreciated."

"_Oui,_" Francis spoke up. "Zat would be good."

"Alright," Alfred said after chugging down some hot chocolate. "States...let him know who ya are, except for the ones he's already met. You should go around the table one at a time, starting with you."

Alfred pointed to the young, auburn haired man sitting next to him. The man had bright, baby blue eyes, and was wearing a T-shirt that said 'Alabama Crimson Tide'. He was eating what appeared to be a crawfish, and kept making strange faces at Mississippi...who returned them without a second thought.

"I'm Alabama," the man said with a small smile. "Nice to meet'cha."

Arthur nodded politely, and turned to the woman sitting next to him.

The woman had dark brown, wavy hair, and dark brown eyes. She was very tan, wore a white tank top with a picture of an orange on it, and he had seen that she was also wearing green flip-flops. She had a pair of large orange sunglasses on her head, and was admiring her french manicure. She looked rather familiar to Arthur, but he could not quite place where he had seen those brown eyes before.

She smiled at Arthur, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth, and giggled, "_Hola, _I'm Florida."

Florida...of course. How could Arthur have not recognized Spain's little sister? She looked so much like him it almost seemed as though they were related by DNA, and not from his adoption of her. Plus, she seemed to have the exact same smile that he did.

It annoyed Arthur, somewhat.

Next to Florida sat Georgia, who Arthur noticed had dark brown hair, and emerald green eyes. He was wearing a red T-shirt with the words 'Coca-Cola' on it, and was poking Florida (who was trying to ignore it).

"I'm Georgia," he said curtly, and then went back to pestering Florida.

Beside Florida was a young man who could have passed for her twin brother. He had very tan skin, dark brown eyes, a mop of brown hair on his head, and a little stubble on his face. He had on a plain white T-shirt with the words _No estoy México_ on it. He merely sat there with a somewhat grumpy expression on his face, unimpressed with his surroundings.

"I'm New Mexico," he said nonchalantly. "_New_ Mexico, mind you."

"You should give yourself a different name," Florida said with a shrug.

New Mexico turned to glare at her half-heartedly, "_¿No crees que lo he intentado?_"

Florida shrugged before turning to Georgia and swatting his hand away, "Stop that."

"Well," Alfred said turning to Arthur. "That's everyone."

Arthur nodded, "Thank you, it was very much appreciated."

Alfred stared at Arthur blankly after he said that, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. Alfred turned away and shook his head, dismissing the subject. Arthur eyed Alfred in silent question, but said nothing.

Arthur did not realize the connection Alfred had just made between he and Samantha. The term 'much appreciated' was a very common saying in Texas, after all.

"Alright," Alfred said after taking a very long sip of hot chocolate. "Who wants to yell at me first?"

"I wouldn't necessarily call it yelling," Louisiana said pursing her lip in thought. "More like boldly speaking to make sure ya get the message."

Alfred gave her a weak smile, "I guess it hasn't been working very well lately."

"No, it hasn't," Oklahoma said simply.

"Well," Francis spoke up. "It iz all in ze past, _oui?"_

"He's right," Florida said with a wide smile. "All of that is behind us, so now's the time to fix it. Kind of like during the Civil War!"

"The Civil War was different..." Georgia said. "This _war _is way worse than that one...and I never thought that would even be possible. And technically it hasn't even started yet!"

"Yeah! And football season's getting canceled this year!" Alabama whined.

"Do you really think anyone cares right now?" Mississippi said, giving him a weak glare.

"Well...it is kind of sad..." Oklahoma muttered.

"There are more important matters at hand!" Arthur exclaimed. "Now quit this rubbish about American Football, and settle your disputes!"

"Alright, me first," Nebraska said, and then he leaned over the table slightly. "I want to know why you suddenly decided to tax my citizens twice as much as before, after almost literally taking away their jobs!"

Everyone turned to Alfred for an answer.

Alfred leaned back in his chair with a small frown plastered on his face, "I don't recall taking away any jobs."

"Well you did! I currently have about a million jobless people, who are required to pay taxes with money that they are selling their own houses to get!" Nebraska said, slamming his fist down on the table. "And it's only getting worse!"

Alfred's eyes widened, but he was interrupted just before he could speak.

"Me too!" Kansas exclaimed. "My people have resorted to eating their own farm cattle because they can't afford store-bought food anymore, which in case you didn't know, is pretty much my main source of money."

"My people are literally hiding in swamps to avoid getting taxed," Louisiana said. "And Duck Dynasty was canceled last month so I'm not getting any money off of that..."

"I had about five tornadoes blow through this past month, and two of them tore up millions of dollars worth of gas pumps," Oklahoma said with a frown. "And...I don't have any money to replace them. A few of the small family gas and oil companies in my state went out of business, and a lot of people lost their houses in the tornadoes. I think we've already explained the taxing situation. It's like the world has literally become an Apocalypse..."

"Hold on," Alfred said quickly. "When the hell did all of this happen?"

Everyone stared at him with blank expressions.

"You mean you honestly have no idea about our economic situation, Alfred?" Louisiana asked in disbelief. "Well no wonder we're having so many problems!"

"I was never informed that the taxing went up since _Obamacare_!" Alfred said, and his hands clenched into fists. "I knew it was bad, but I...I never made that decision! They've been doing things behind my back, the _bastards!"_

Alabama put his hand on Alfred's back, "Woah, calm down dude!"

"How can I calm down?" Alfred exclaimed before bringing his face into his hands. "This is all my fault! If I had just paid attention during all of those freaking _boring_ political meetings, I bet some of our problems wouldn't even exist! It's just...I mean...I _trusted_ them."

"Yeah, that was a stupid move," Louisiana muttered. "Never trust humans. They are dumber than buckets of mud."

"I think the correct way to say that is 'dumber than'a bucket 'o mud'," Oklahoma said with a small smile.

Louisiana stuck her tongue out, "I wasn't copyin' Texas!"

"I think what Louise was tryin' to say is that trusting humans is usually a bad idea," Mississippi said. "But at least now we know that everythin' that has happened hasn't exactly been your fault..."

"Yeah, I guess we should have been payin' attention too," Nebraska pouted. "We could have tried harder to get ya to listen."

"How...how have we lasted _this_ long?" Alfred asked looking up through his hands.

Everyone looked at each other.

"I think...Texas..." Florida said quietly.

"Yeah, it was her, wasn't it?" Louisiana said. "She always made ya listen when something was going really wrong, and managed to fix it just before it got too awful bad. For the most part anyway... She's a natural born leader, and has been that way since...since she was a lil' girl."

"It's almost always been like that," Georgia spoke up. "We have always just sat back and waited her to start yelling at you."

"And now she's gone," Louisiana said softly. "This ain't her problem anymore."

"I miss her," Kansas said sadly. "She always loved cooking with my beef."

"More like smotherin' the poor cow in gravy," Louisiana said with a smile.

"Didn't she say once that Chicken Fried Steak was just a gravy boat sent down from heaven?" Arkansas asked.

"Yeah, she did," Oklahoma laughed.

Arthur felt his heart clench upon hearing the words spoken from the states. He never knew how much the states actually seemed to care about her, or how much they missed her the moment she left. He always thought that she was like he was; alone. He always saw himself as the only person that truly cared about her, but now that he saw the states personifications he came to the conclusion that the person who neglected her the most was himself.

Hearing the comments the representatives said about his daughter made him realize just how little he knew her.

He never even knew she liked gravy...

"Well, now what?" New Mexico asked. "We sort of know about our problems, but how are we supposed to fix them?"

Everyone turned to Alfred, who in return looked down at his lap. He sniffed loudly, and cleared his throat.

"I..." he spoke softly. "I don't know."

"You mean to tell me you don't have any idea? How did you fix the depression?" Mississippi asked.

"I didn't, I mean you all helped that out," Alfred admitted. "And...I kind of asked Sam."

"Of course you did," Nebraska said with a groan. "I swear, you'd think she ruled the world by now since she's so all-knowing."

"Erm...Nebraska..." Kansas said quietly.

"I mean, I swear! Texas is literally about the only thing anyone has even talked about since we got here! She's gotten into your heads, I swear!" Nebraska exclaimed. "Texas is gone! She ain't coming back, so let's just stop talking about her already! It's not like she knows everything! She isn't even the oldest!"

"_Nathan!" _Kansas whispered, pushing Nebraska's arm roughly.

"What?" Nebraska asked with a small glare.

Arthur frowned when he noticed that everyone was staring behind him. He also took notice that Matthew must have slipped away from the room a few moments before without anyone noticing. He had a thing with sneaking around, and no one could ever seem to find him during hide-and-seek. So the fact that nobody noticed Matthew leave did not exactly come as a shock to Arthur.

Arthur also noticed that Alfred's face had almost horrifically drained itself of all color.

Arthur turned around slowly, and met someone he had most certainly not been expecting to see.

"_You were saying, Nathan?" _a cold, southern accented voice broke the silence.

Nebraska slowly turned around the meet a rather angry, Texan face.

Samantha Kirkland, and all of her glory, stood in the doorway of the room. She was wearing a dark blue sweater, a pair of dark blue jeans, black cowboy boots, and her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail. She obviously had not put much effort in her appearance. Arthur might have actually been worried about her since he noticed her hat was currently absent, but her gun remained strapped to her side so he figured everything was probably alright.

_Where did she even come from?_

Nebraska smiled widely, "Hehe, nothin' sweet thang."

Samantha glared and smacked the back of Nebraska's head, _hard._

Nebraska clutched his head, "Ow! The heck, Sam!"

"Don't worry, Nate. When I _rule the world with my 'all-knowing self,_ I'll make sure to keep you as my personal shoe-shiner," Samantha said folding her arms.

"Smart-aleck," Nebraska muttered.

"So, what's goin' on here?" Samantha asked before looking at Matthew. "Oh hey, Mattie, do you have another chair?"

"Yes, there's one behind you," Matthew pointed out as he reentered the room.

Samantha turned around and saw the chair, and pulled up next to Arthur. Samantha turned to him and broke into a wide smile.

"Hey Daddy!" she said wrapping her arms around him weakly. "Didn't see ya there!"

Arthur sighed and hugged her back, "Hello darling."

Samantha was smiling so wide it became blatantly obvious to Arthur that something was off. It was almost as though she were relieved that he was there, which led Arthur to the conclusion that she was not completely alright. She did have rather dark circles under her eyes...

"_Bonjour belle~__" _Francis said with a smile.

Samantha pulled away and stared at Francis suspiciously, "_Bonjour."_

Francis leaned over Arthur to close the distance between he and Samantha a little; his wide smile never left his face, "_Dites-moi_, how have you been faring lately, my little Texan rose?"

Samantha pressed her eyebrows together a little, "Keep your distance, French Fry."

Francis frowned, and Arthur could not hold back a smirk. At least he and his daughter shared a mutual feeling towards Francis, although his dislike was much greater than hers. However, although she was a very good actress in the art of hiding her true emotions, Arthur could most certainly tell that her insult had no bite behind it. Insults ran in her Kirkland blood, and that had to be the weakest insult Arthur had ever heard his daughter give the Frenchman. In fact, it could hardly be called an insult; it was more like a tease.

Samantha sighed, turned forward, and met a pair of baby blue eyes. Arthur followed her gaze curiously as he noticed her stiffen beside him. Alfred had not stopped staring at her since she entered the room, and Arthur could not tell if he was angry or not. Alfred's eyes were dull, and his expression remained stoic. Samantha's smile faded, but she did not frown. Instead she simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Do I have somethin' on my face?" Samantha asked with disgruntled stare.

Alfred shook his head quickly, and looked away, "No."

Samantha's eyebrows pressed together slightly, but she said nothing. Odd. She usually retorted to anything Alfred said, whether statement or insult.

"So, Sam..." Louisiana spoke up. "Alfred said that during the Depression, he asked you for advice on political matters. Ya know, all that jazz."

Samantha stared blankly at Louisiana for a moment. She seemed a little shaken by the question.

"Yeah, he did," Samantha said simply. "But I asked Virginia for advice first, so I was sort of just relaying her message. I hate politics..."

"Wait...so Virginia is technically the one who knows what to do?" Mississippi asked.

"Of course, isn't she always?" Samantha asked while raising an eyebrow. "She is one of the oldest. Plus I always go to her, 'cause she seriously has the best pie ever."

"Yeah she does," Kansas nodded with a dreamy smile. "I can just taste it now..."

Everyone sat there in silence for a brief pause, letting Samantha's words sink in. She wasn't the one who gave advice...Virginia was. It was not unusual for Virginia to hand out words of wisdom and comfort in times of need, but no one ever assumed that Samantha spent much time with Martha Dawson, Virginia's personification. Samantha was never really one to ask for advice, at least not in the eyes of others.

"Wait...what are you doing here, anyway?" New Mexico asked with a frown. "_Ya que es político_."

Samantha turned to him slowly, mysteriously staring at him straight in the eyes, "Matthew and I are plotting world domination."

Everyone stared at her as she continued to eye New Mexico warily. Nobody knew quite how to respond, and she seemed to be deadly serious. That is...until Louisiana burst out in mirthful laughter.

"Good one Sam!" she laughed. "For a second there I thought you were serious."

Samantha grinned, "Maybe I was."

"Yeah right!" Louisiana giggled. "Matthew would never agree to it."

Matthew blushed and looked down, "I might...if you say please..."

Samantha smiled at him, but no one else seemed to have heard him.

"So, why _are_ you here?" Oklahoma asked.

Samantha leaned back in her seat, "I just came to pay Mattie a visit, but it seems y'all beat me to it. Oh, and may I ask why there is green and yellow slime on the outside of his house?"

Samantha turned to Louisiana suspiciously, and Louisiana turned pink, "Oh, well we were tryin' to get Alfred to come out."

"Why?" Samantha asked unimpressed.

"Well...this is why," Oklahoma said. "We needed to discuss political crud, and that's what we were doing before you showed up."

"Oh, well if I'm intrudin' I'll leave-"

"No!" Louisiana interrupted. "You should stay. I mean...I kind of wanna hang out afterwards. Haven't seen ya in ages!"

"Oh," Samantha said nonchalantly. "Okay."

Arthur looked over at Samantha and noticed that she seemed a little out of place. Not only did she look abnormally cold, but she appeared to be nervous and he did not know why. Besides, he knew his daughter well enough to know that she did not usually pay anyone visits in the winter. She was used to hot weather, and during the winter she would stay at home and drink coffee if not just spend the entire time asleep. She was always excited during Christmas, but once Christmas was over nobody would really see her until spring. So why exactly was she going out of her way to visit Matthew?

Arthur wrapped an arm around his daughter as a subconscious sign of affection, and she responded by leaning into him. The two of them never really spent much time together since they lived so far apart, but when they did see each other they both went out of their way to show the other that they cared. Arthur did not really know how to be fatherly, but it seemed that the little things he did do, Samantha appreciated.

Arthur jumped out of his thoughts when Samantha let loose a rather violent shiver, and she huddled closer to him. It was then that Arthur realized just how cool Samantha felt. Well, cooler than she usually felt. Seeing as how Texas could get pretty steamy during the summer, her natural body temperature reflected the weather by maintaining an average of about one-hundred degrees.

Arthur leaned down towards her ear and whispered, "Darling, are you feeling well?"

Samantha looked up and smiled weakly, "Yeah, don't worry 'bout me. It's just a little cold in Texas today, that's all."

Arthur nodded, but in all honesty he did not believe her. Even when it was cold, she did not shiver that hard.

"So, what were we talking about again?" Kansas asked.

"Well, we've pretty much established that the taxation in America is ridiculous, and it needs to be amended," Georgia said.

"And that it's not entirely Alfred's fault," Florida pointed out with a mouthful of orange slices.

"What?" Samantha asked with a frown. "It's not?"

"No," Louisiana said. "Apparently the government has started raising our taxes without Alfred's conformation."

Samantha's mouth snapped shut, and her frown deepened. She did not already know that.

Alfred rubbed his temples, "Louise...how far in debt are we, exactly?"

"You don't know?" Nebraska asked in disbelief. "For heaven's sake, Alfred!"

Alfred glared at Nebraska, "Look, just tell me! How far are we in debt?"

Everyone silenced, and a few states exchanged worried glances at each other. Everything had finally begun to get to Alfred, and he was nearing his breaking point quickly.

Slowly, Arthur unwrapped his arm from Samantha, and stood up to hand over the documents he and Francis had brought with them a few days before.

"Francis and I are willing to do all we can to help ease your burden a bit, if you would allow it," Arthur said benevolently. "Although, we can not do much. Our economies are not exactly up to par."

Alfred took the papers slowly, obviously not wanted to actually look at the numbers written down on them. He had purposely been avoided them the past few decades. Alfred glanced down at them, and everyone waited anxiously for his reaction.

Samantha stared at Alfred with a piercing gaze, waiting for him to realize just how big of a hole he dug himself into. Part of her wanted to laugh at his face and say, "I told you so!". Another part of her wanted to pull him into the hug that he so desperately needed, and tell him that everything would be alright. However...she decided it would be best to do neither.

Alfred's eyes slowly widened and his mouth fell open as he stared at the documents. He slammed the papers down onto the table, and his hands clenched into fists. He shut his eyes tightly, and shook his head roughly in disbelief.

"Eighteen-trillion, going on nineteen-trillion..." he said with a broken voice. "How is that even...?"

Matthew patted Alfred on the back comfortingly, but he did not really know what to say. Everyone was silent, and nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

"Ya want some advice?"

Everyone turned to Samantha, who had taken the moment to speak. Alfred looked up at her with a half-hearted glare.

"No, I don't," Alfred growled. "Not from you."

Samantha stiffened, and folded her arms with a huff, "Fine, teach me to try and help. Don't come cryin' to me when you finally fall apart."

"I wasn't planning on it," Alfred hissed angrily. "And don't make assumptions, Samantha."

"Alfred, Samantha, stop," Mississippi chided. "This isn't helping anything."

"Yeah, Missy's right. And I want to know what your idea is," Arizona said. "Does it involve a certain Grand Canyon?"

Samantha rolled her eyes, "No, it doesn't-"

Samantha's nose wrinkled up, and she let out a loud, violent sneeze. She rubbed her nose with her sleeve, and shivered violently once more.

"Excuse me..." she muttered right before a wave of 'bless you's were spoken.

"Darling, are you sick?" Arthur asked worriedly, feeling her forehead to find it ice cold. "You are freezing!"

"Nah, I'm fine," Samantha said with a small sniff. "I told you that already. It's just the weather."

"What's wrong with the weather?" Matthew asked quietly.

"Nothing, I'll tell you later. It's not important now," Samantha said, although she began shaking a tad more.

It obviously _was_ important.

"Alright," Matthew said. "Oh, would you like some hot chocolate? You look a little cold."

Samantha's eyes lit up, and she smiled, "Sure! Thanks Mattie!"

Matthew blushed and gave her a small smile in return as he left to get some hot chocolate.

"So...what was your idea?" Louisiana asked Samantha.

Samantha's demeanor changed immediately from happy to ice cold, "Well apparently Alfred doesn't want my help, so I'm not going to say."

"Sam," Oklahoma complained. "It'd be helping all of us!"

"I'm not sayin' nothin' until _someone_ gives me an apology," Samantha said as she glared at Alfred.

Alfred glared right back, "For what?"

"For being a moron!" Samantha complained.

"Look, if you know so much why didn't you start helping a few years ago?" Alfred yelled at her, standing up in his seat.

"Because you wouldn't listen!" Samantha yelled back, also standing up in her seat.

"Samantha..." Arthur began with a frown.

Why on earth did she have to somehow inherit Alistair's temper? Did it secretly run in Kirkland veins, or was it just the ones with odd accents?

"You didn't try hard enough! If you had just shown me the numbers, I would have started realizing just how bad everything was getting!" Alfred yelled angrily. "I know for a fact that you can get what you want if you just press hard enough, so why didn't you do that with me?"

"Because..." Samantha froze, her hands clenching and unclenching. "I don't..."

"Wait..." Alfred began with an icy cold glare. "I know exactly why you didn't. You were waiting until I was weak enough to not be able to win a war against you! You're the reason we're all in the dumps! You knew from the beginning just how bad things were going to get!"

Samantha's throat clenched, and her eyes widened "Alfred..."

"You let it get this bad! This is all _your_ fault!" Alfred yelled.

Samantha stood there with her eyes shut, and her hands clenched into fists. She was shaking, and this time Arthur did not think it was from the cold. Not a single soul dared to speak, and the air was so thick a person could have cut it with a knife.

"_Alfred..._"

Her voice rang out in the silence like a siren.

Samantha's eyes opened to glare menacingly at Alfred, and everyone in the room shivered at the rather angry blue aura surrounding her. Her eyes nearly glowed in anger as she continued to stare Alfred down. She looked ready to kill.

"_That is the biggest load of bullcrap I've ever heard in my entire life!_" she hissed at him.

Samantha stomped over to where Alfred stood and smacked him in the face, causing everyone to flinch at the loud sound that came from hand to cheek contact.

"I would never do something so low! And to be honest, I thought you knew me well enough to know that!" Samantha said with angry tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. "_Supongo que estaba equivocado_."

Alfred stared at her in shock. Samantha had never hit him like that before. There was something off about her, he could tell.

Samantha spun on her heel and stormed towards the doorway. However, as she did so, she began to sway off to her right as she lost her balance. She quickly grabbed a nearby chair, regained her balance, and then continued to walk away. She stopped when Matthew appeared with a mug of hot chocolate, and she took it with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I'll be in the living room watching Corner Gas," she said to him. "Tell me y'all are done."

Matthew nodded, and stared after her worriedly as she left the room.

Arthur turned to give Alfred a reprimanding stare, but froze when he saw that Alfred had not moved from the spot he had been in when Samantha hit him. The angry fire in his eyes had disappeared completely, and his expression became stoic. He slowly sat back down, and stared at the table in front of him.

"We never did hear her idea..." Nebraska muttered.

* * *

A fist slammed onto a tile bathroom wall, causing the walls to shake. The fist slammed onto the wall once again, and then once more for good measure. It was a surprise to see that the tile had not broken.

"_E__stúpido idiota!"_ Samantha hissed as her hand hit the wall again. "_Él es un idiota!_"

It was not common for anyone to hear Samantha Kirkland speak Spanish willingly, at least not since she had left Mexico those many years ago. She would never admit that it was, in fact, her first language, and would argue with anyone by saying she only spoke English as a child. Of course, everyone knew that was a lie, but nobody ever really bothered to argue with her, knowing it was futile.

However, even though she refused to speak Spanish often, it would often spill from her lips when she was upset or surprised. In fact, she did not usually realize that she had switched languages until someone would point it out. It was not unusual for someone to ask her something in English when she was upset, and have her answer in Spanish.

"_Lo odio tanto!__Me gustaría que sólo iría morir en un rincón__!" _Samantha whispered to herself with a growl as she slammed her fist down once more. "_Deseo... Deseo...__"_

Samantha had been on her way to the living room, just moments before, when a wave of nausea came over her. She quickly went into the nearest bathroom just in case her stomach decided to _not_ digest the hot chocolate she had just been given. The moment she closed the door, however, the emotions she had pent up and hid from the eyes of others burst forth. She could not help it.

Samantha turned to look at her fist, which would no doubt probably be an ugly purple color the next day, and noticed it shaking violently. She slowly turned around to look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face was horribly pale, and she had ghastly dark circles under her eyes. Her hair stuck up at odd angles as if she had been grabbing at it. She looked like a madwoman...

Samantha closed her eyes tightly when she felt a dizzy spell come over her for the millionth time that day.

"Stupid wind..." she muttered. "Stupid Texas weather..."

She felt hundreds of rough gusts of freezing cold air blow over random areas of Texas. She could feel everything happening within her borders. She felt it when trees snapped from the wind's strength, and she felt it when the Brazos River froze over from the abnormally cold air. She stiffened when she felt her oil pump jacks freeze to the point that they could not pump, and she twitched when she felt cars crash into one another due to the connection of slippery roads and car tires that were not meant for snow.

Samantha's hands gripped the bathroom counter top to the point that it began to crack under pressure. Her knuckles turned snow white. She opened her eyes to see they had become bloodshot, no doubt from nearly crying in frustration.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

Even when it _did_ snow in Texas, it never snowed _that_ much. Especially not all at once. Every inch of Texas was covered with feet upon feet of snow, and it was starting to really worry Samantha.

Samantha nearly toppled over when tornadoes hit Texan soil one by one, tearing up nearly everything in their paths. Her jaw clenched tightly when she felt houses being ripped up, and her head pounded at the screaming of her people. There was not anything she could do, and that was what bothered her most. She could keep certain areas safe from certain weather destruction, but only a mile or two at the most.

Tornadoes did seem to always have perfect timing, didn't they?

Samantha merely stood in Matthew's bathroom, enduring the inner torture of her people's death and injuries. She could feel it when someone was injured. She could feel it when every single one of them died. She could name each person who lost their life, how old they were, what they looked like, who they were related to, and so much more. Samantha clawed at her hair, and froze when she noticed many strands beginning to fall out.

She had forgotten about that...

After all, when her citizens died, it was like she lost a part of her. _Literally._

Samantha bit her lip to hold in a cry of sadness, remembering the last time she had felt this way. Alfred had been there then...there to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she realized just how alone she was. It was what she had asked for, so she had only herself to blame. Samantha's head pounded loudly in her ears as she tried to keep herself from crying. She had told Alfred to leave her alone, and eventually he did. He was gone. He wasn't coming back.

Samantha felt her heart skip a beat as a gruesome chill ran down her spine. Her eyes widened to their peaks, and her entire body went rigid. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. She stared at her reflection through the mirror, and began to stop breathing as her throat constricted slightly.

_No..._

"_SAMANTHA! OPEN THE DOOR!"_

The pounding...it was not in her head. It was the door. Someone was knocking on it, but Samantha did not care. She could not move a single muscle. She could not even blink.

The door broke down, revealing a very disgruntled American. Alfred glared at Samantha, "WHY THE HECK ARE YOU BEATING MATTHEW'S WALL?"

Everyone else stood behind Alfred, wondering the exact same thing. However, when they received no answer from Samantha, they grew concerned. She was just standing there.

"Samantha?" Louisiana said slowly. "You okay?"

Alfred stared at Samantha, and took in her position. She was leaning against the counter, her hands gripping it so tight that her knuckles turned white, and she was shaking violently. One might have thought she had been vomiting if they did not know better. Alfred knew her well enough to know that it would have to take a hell of a lot to get Samantha Kirkland to vomit.

Alfred walked forwards ever so slowly, "Samantha?"

"_Woah guys! Check this out! I was checking my weather on my new phone, and look at the huge cloud covering Texas! It think it's snowing!"_

Oklahoma came forward and held out his phone for everyone to see the yellow, red, and purple cloud, that nearly covered all of Texas. Alfred's eyes widened, and he turned to see Texas slam her fist into the mirror in front of her. She let out a yell of frustration.

"SAM!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing the girl's hand.

"_No!"_ Samantha growled, trying to pull away.

"What's going on in there? I can't see over this buffoon!" Arthur exclaimed from behind Nebraska. "Is Samantha alright?"

Alfred tried to keep Samantha still by holding her arms, but she pulled away with a hiss. Alfred stared at her intently, and she stared back weakly. Alfred was no doubt furious with her for everything she had done before, but there was something very off about her...and it was not just the weather.

"Sam..." Alfred said softly. "What's wrong?"

Samantha merely stood there for a long moment, staring at Alfred with a slightly fearful expression. Then her eyes narrowed into slits, her eyebrows pressed together, and her hands clenched into tight fists.

"_The Alamo."_

* * *

**Goodness that took a while to write. xO I'm going to go pass out somewhere now.  
**

**Drop a review? :3  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Voices

**Next chappie's up. :D And thank you guys SO much for reviewing!  
**

* * *

There was the vague memory of Alfred F. Jones breaking into Matthew's bathroom, his baby blue eyes shining in fear and confusion.

"_Prisa!"_

There were also a pair of arms that grabbed her by the shoulders to push her into the living room, and holding onto her arms to help keep her balance.

"_No tenemos tiempo!_ _Hurry up!"_

The ground continued to reappear and disappear beneath her feet as she was led to a couch. Her head was pounding loudly, and painfully.

"_¡Encuéntralo!__ Keep digging!"_

There were so many voices; so many voices speaking her name as she sat down. She was well aware of her mouth gaping open in an attempt to speak, and yet she could not find the energy to even close it back.

"_Samantha sabrá que estamos aquí! We have to find it before she does!"_

So many voices were calling out to her, desperate to receive even the slightest reaction. There were other voices too, and those voices were the ones that she had trouble understanding.

"_Samantha!__Sé que está aquí!"_

Those voices were growing quiet; fading away as she began to make sense of what was going on.

"_Samantha!"_

Now there was only one voice. It rang out, loud and clear, amongst all of the other voices rushing through her mind.

Her vision was choppy, as if she were watching everything on a television with terrible definition. It was also blurred and out of focus, and each color blurred together into odd shapes and masses. There were so many colors to see, mainly blond and green. She had seen those colors before...but where?

"_Samantha!"_

There was that one voice again, louder than all of the rest. She heard it clearly, but she could not process the words that it spoke. Perhaps it was speaking a foreign language?

"_Samantha! Samantha, look at me!"_

Look...at it?

"_Samantha, darling, please listen to me!"_

Darling. Only one person ever called her darling.

Samantha blinked her eyes rapidly as she was roughly shaken. Her reflexes bested her, and she grabbed the assailant who dared to even touch her. She was a split second away from breaking said person's arms off when her name was spoken once more.

"Samantha, look at me."

Samantha _was_ looking at him, but it took a moment for her vision to come into focus, and for her to realize this. Once she did, she automatically let her harsh grip falter. His emerald green eyes shone with worry, and his caterpillar-like eyebrows were pressed together.

"Daddy?" her voice was rough.

Arthur threw his arms around the girl, letting out a great sigh of relief, "Oh thank heavens! You have been sitting here like a corpse for at least a full hour!"

Samantha let out the breath of air she had not realized she was holding at the time, and her hands reached behind Arthur to gently grasp his forest green sweater-vest. Her thoughts and feelings were racing through her mind in one jumbled mess, causing her to become confused and slightly anxious.

She recognized her father's hold as one of solace, and embraced it wholeheartedly. He was warm, which was in complete contrast to her own freezing body. His embrace was gently, but firm enough to show that he had, in fact, been very worried.

Samantha looked around and realized that she was in Matthew's living room. All of the state representatives were either standing or sitting somewhere in the room, staring at her with wide eyes. They each had worried expressions etched onto their faces, even after Arthur announced that she was alright.

Was she alright?

"Sam?" Louisiana asked, leaning down a little closer to Samantha. "Are you okay?"

Samantha's eyebrows pressed together as she nodded, "Yes...but..."

"But what?" Louisiana asked softly.

"What...happened?" Samantha asked, her voice cracking a little.

"You don't know?" Arthur asked with a frown as he pulled away.

Samantha shook her head as Arthur sat next to her, "No. I remember going into the bathroom because I felt sick...and then..."

"Then?" Louisiana asked.

Samantha nodded, "The weather. It was crazy, and there was...snow everywhere! People were dyin', and cars were crashing...and my hair!"

Samantha grabbed at her hair frantically, and a few more strands fell out. She pursed her lip with a frown, and folded her arms.

"This would be a great time for me to have remembered my hat..." Samantha muttered under her breath.

Louisiana laughed dryly, "Well, at least ya still have yer sense of humor."

Samantha looked up with a blank expression, "I wasn't joking, Louise."

Louisiana stiffened a little, but said nothing. She sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch, narrowly avoiding a pile of Canadian hockey magazines. She set her elbows on her knees, and intently stared at her muddy rain boots.

Samantha shivered, and set her jaw. She glanced around the room to see what everyone was doing.

Nebraska was hugging Kansas in the left corner of the room, which did not come as a surprise to Samantha. Katelyn Roberts had always been very sensitive, and Samantha's abrupt moment of instability possibly took its toll on her.

New Mexico and Arizona were silently drinking hot chocolate by Matthew's television, glancing over at Samantha every few moments. Neither of them were very close friends with Samantha, but they knew her well enough, that her previous actions frightened and worried both of them.

Arkansas was listening in on Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia's conversation, being the nosy guy that he was, while the three of them were speaking amongst one another quietly, constantly glancing over at Samantha. Mississippi looked the most troubled out of the group, and when she caught Samantha's gaze, the she gave the Texan a comforting smile.

Florida was singing to herself in Spanish with a wide smile plastered on her face. If Samantha had not known any better, she would have believed the girl's fake façade. She and Florida were never exactly best friends, and they were most certainly _completely_ different people, but they could relate to one another in a way that most of the states could not. Samantha had respect for Florida, and Florida for her. Plus, it was always fun to do the Macarena together.

Oklahoma was pacing the living room, concentrating intently on nothing in particular. He continuously pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the weather, as though it were about to take over the planet.

Matthew and Francis were standing by Arthur's side of the couch, talking to one another in hushed French. Samantha's eyebrow twitched when she noticed that neither of them seemed to remember that she too, spoke French.

Samantha scanned the room thoroughly once more, and when she did not find who she was looking for, she spoke.

"Where's Alfred?"

Everyone's head snapped towards her direction when she spoke. Louisiana wrinkled her nose and shrugged, "Dunno. He helped us get you in here, and then he just walked away."

"Yeah, he said something about checking out Mexico," Oklahoma said, pausing in his pacing. "I'm not sure what he meant by that, but I really hope he isn't planning on actually going _to_ Mexico. The weather isn't all too great there either..."

Samantha frowned.

Alfred was avoiding Mexico almost as much as she was, so why on earth would he be trying to check with him? Something was bothering Samantha, but she could not quite place what it was. There were those voices, which she then realized were speaking in Spanish, but she could not hear them any longer. She could not remember the past few minutes very clearly, and felt on edge. It was compelling her to grow extremely agitated, more so than usual. She had only ever acquired that feeling a handful of times in her life, and things never ended well when she did.

She felt...invaded.

"Get Alfred in here," Samantha said in monotone.

Louisiana frowned, "I thought you were angry at him? I know for a _fact_ that you hold grudges longer than anyone in this room."

Samantha glared at Louisiana, "I never said I _wanted _Alfred. I just...I don't like him out of my sight. He's an idiot, and who knows what he'd himself into without me around to smack him in the head."

Louisiana folded her arms, and leaned back with a calculating expression. She did not believe Samantha for a second, knowing full well that she was simply worried for Alfred's well being. There was something that Samantha was not telling her, and she had a feeling that she would not find out what it was anytime soon.

Arthur did not know what to say to any of this. One second his daughter was yelling at Alfred, and then the next she was asking for him to come back. He knew women were complicated, but this was still odd behavior for Samantha.

"You've been actin' kinda strange lately, Sam," Oklahoma said, sitting down next to Louisiana. "And I have a feeling it's not just 'cause of the weather."

Samantha shrugged and looked to her right, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"How's...Texas?" Oklahoma asked. "That cloud that was over it did _not_ look very pleasant."

"It wasn't," Samantha said sharply.

"Has it stopped?" Louisiana asked softly. "I mean, you aren't showin' as many signs as before."

Samantha did not answer, and instead continued to stare at the wall.

Oklahoma and Louisiana exchanged worried glances, neither of them knowing what to say. The silence grew more awkward as every second passed. Samantha was pale, very pale, and her face held one of the most frightening scowls that she had ever had.

"One-thousand, eight-hundred, sixty-one," Samantha said softly.

Everyone turned to look at her, confused at her words. Samantha turned to look at some hair strands that had fallen onto her lap.

"That's how many people died today," Samantha said, her jaw set. "At this rate I'm going to go bald."

Louisiana's eyes widened, "One-thousand...? What kind'a messed up weather did that?"

Samantha smiled sadly, "Tornadoes. Freak blizzards. Texans that drive ten miles past the speed limit down ice covered highways."

Oklahoma pinched the bridge of his nose, "No wonder you've been actin' weird... I couldn't tell what was going on just by using my phone's weather radar, all I saw was a giant multi-colored cloud."

"Is this the only bad weather you've had?" Mississippi asked curiously. "I'm sure it's just a terrible coincidence. Things happen to everyone, and I'm sure my state is probably about to be under the control of that same cloud. Depending on which direction is was heading, of course."

"It wasn't really moving," Oklahoma muttered.

"No," Samantha said with a frown. "It's been snowing for days, all over Texas. That's why I came to see Matthew. It didn't look like it was going to let up any time soon, and I honestly have no idea how to deal with snow. If I had known it was going to be that bad, I would have stayed and tried to give as many people as I could some sort of shelter."

"Why didn't you just call Matthew, or ask one of the northern states?" Arthur asked. "Why bother coming all of the way to Canada?"

Samantha made a face, "I ain't asking the Yankees for advice, what are you nuts? I do have pride ya know. Besides, I figured payin' Matthew a visit wouldn't hurt anything. He's very good company."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Oh."

"Well, at least the weather is easing up a little," Samantha said softly, with her bangs shadowing her eyes.

"Is it?" Louisiana asked with a sigh of relief. "That's good."

Samantha let out a dark chuckle, "It's such a coincidence, ain't it?"

"What is?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"One-thousand, eight-hundred, and sixty-one," Samantha said, laughing with no smile.

Everyone was silent as they contemplated her words. They knew that whatever she meant was, most certainly, unpleasant. At the time she was the complete persona of anger and frustration.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Louisiana said honestly.

"Don't worry about it," Samantha waved it off with a sigh. "It's not important anyway."

Arthur looked at Samantha attentively, noticing her lips nearly curl into a snarl. Her arms were still folded over her chest, but it was a futile act to conceal her fists. Arthur continued to fixedly stare, even when she caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye. Her deep brown eyes seemed to glow underneath her bangs, revealing a jumble of emotions that Arthur could not quite place, save for one.

Sorrow.

It was something Arthur could relate to, easily. Arthur could almost literally read Samantha like an open book, or at least when she was the slightest bit emotionally unstable. Her anger and adamant demeanor was merely a façade. Her eyes gave her away; they always did.

"Well," New Mexico spoke up. "I hate to say this, but I need to get back home. I promised my boss I'd be back by tomorrow afternoon, and I should probably leave now to catch a plane."

"Yeah, we should be headin' home too," Nebraska said as Kansas held his arm. "We have farmin' to do. Animals and crops don't tend themselves, right sis?"

Kansas nodded, "Yup."

"I should probably go home too," Florida said with a smile. "It's orange season, after all, _si?_"

"We should all probably head back," Oklahoma said. "We've already been gone for nearly a week."

"Mhm," Louisiana said.

"Thanks for dealin' with our nonsense, Mister...er..." Mississippi paused to stare at Matthew.

"Matthew," Matthew said with a weak smile.

"Yes, well thank ya Matthew," Mississippi.

"Yeah, and thanks for the cocoa!" Florida said with a pearly-white smile. "It was _delicioso!"_

Matthew blushed, "Oh, y-you're welcome."

Everyone began to make their way out of the house to head to the nearby airport. Louisiana, however, walked over to Samantha and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She leaned back and looked Samantha in the eyes with a sad smile.

"Everythin' will turn out okay," Louisiana said. "And if ya need anythin' you know you can always call me."

Samantha nodded and smiled genuinely at Louisiana, "Thanks, Louise."

"Feel better, 'kay?" Louisiana said patting Samantha's shoulder gently, before walking towards the front door. "And remember...Nessie's there for ya too."

Samantha's head shot up towards Louisiana, but she had already left the room. Samantha let out a shaky breath of air, playing with the hem of her sweater's sleeve.

How could she have ever possibly forgotten Nessie? Of course she didn't, she was just avoiding her. After all, Nessie had her own problems.

Matthew followed the states to see them out politely, and Francis tailed behind him. He always had been a tad protective over Matthew, and he was not exactly too familiar with the states. He was especially suspicious as of late, due to the recent frog throwing and insults.

Arthur turned to Samantha once more. She was staring straight out in front of her, arms still folded, and legs pressed together out of polite habit. Arthur was proud to know that his daughter was indeed, very well mannered. At least, until someone did something to aggravate her, and her fiery temper was unleashed.

Oh to be young and full of life.

"Samantha," Arthur said softly. "Are you sure you are alright?"

Samantha nodded curtly, "Yes sir."

The corners of Arthur's lips curled slightly upwards, and he let out a small sigh, "Samantha, I know you are lying. I can read you like a book."

"Then why ask?" Samantha muttered with a frown.

Arthur reached out and tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, "Because I care about you, and I want you to tell me when something is bothering you."

Samantha set her jaw, "If I told you every time somethin' was botherin' me, we would hardly get anythin' done."

Arthur chuckled, "Perhaps."

There was a moment of silence between the two. Outside, they could hear the states talking about something, with loud voices. Laughter rang out among them, and a frog croaked loudly in the nighttime air.

Samantha turned to looked at her father, "Dad...may I ask you somethin'?"

"Of course," Arthur said softly.

Samantha's gaze was one of tribulation, "What...did it feel like when Alfred left you?"

Arthur stiffened slightly, eyes wide, and mouth agape as he was taken aback by her question. He blinked a few times, and she continued to stare at him. She should already know the answer, she was there when it happened. Samantha saw his reaction with her own eyes, so why even ask?

"Well...that was some time ago..." Arthur began to make excuses to not answer.

"You claim that you can read me like a book," Samantha said with a piercing gaze. "But it is in fact I, who can read you, _father dearest._"

Arthur decided to test the waters, "Oh, is that so? Well then, you should already know the answer. You were there in Alfred's army."

Samantha sighed, "I do, but I want _you_ to tell _me_ when something is bothering you."

Arthur was stunned by his daughter's retort. The Kirkland blood that ran through her veins was greatly demonstrated by the way she used his own words as a comeback. It was a well known fact, after all, that the Kirkland brothers were known to be quite perceptive and clever when need be.

"Well," Arthur said, while fiddling with his fingers absentmindedly. "It hurt."

Samantha continued to stare at Arthur, and had it been anyone else, Arthur might have been slightly creeped out.

"I wished only to be able to care for him, something that my own brothers never seemed to do for me," Arthur expressed. "I wanted to always be able to be there for him, to protect him. However, fate was never kind to me, and it seems that Alfred was meant to be on his own. Still..."

Arthur turned to Samantha, giving her a sad and weak smile. Samantha began to feel a tad sour, but not towards Alfred.

"I never expected him to declare war upon me, and I do believe that my own stupidity and shocked impudence was what truly caused him to rebel against me in the way that he did," Arthur said softly. "I also took him for granted, thinking that even if he succeeded in the war, he would come crawling back to me. It took a while, but I've come to realize that bureaucratic and political matters aside, it was partially my fault. What began as a simple wish to care for Alfred, grew into hunger for power, and to have someone under my control."

Samantha turned away with that, feeling her throat constrict. He really had cared for Alfred back then, and in a way he still did. But...who cared for her?

"However, to answer your question," Arthur let out a sigh. "It hurt. It's as simple as that. There are no other words to describe it, other than pain. For weeks I was depressed, feeling nothing but misery for myself."

Samantha was silent, not knowing how to respond to her father's confession. Arthur continued to glance at his daughter, wondering what her reaction might be.

To be frank, Samantha was slightly resentful.

"Does that qualify as telling you when something bothers me?" Arthur asked genuinely.

Samantha turned, secretly bitter towards her father, "Yes."

Arthur, however, seemed to notice this. He reached out and stroked her cheek, to which she responded by giving a small sigh. She unconsciously leaned into his touch, and felt her throat constrict once more. She was hoping that Arthur would let her inner turmoil be, that perhaps he would ignore it and let her deal with her emotions alone. After all, she was simply experiencing the after-effects of the weather, right? She had no reason to be angry with her father...at least no logical reason.

"Darling," he began softly, realizing that something was wrong. "Are you tired? Perhaps you should begin to ready yourself for bed."

"It's early," Samantha said simply.

"Not quite," Arthur said. "You were off in 'lala-land' for quite some time. It's nearly nine, which is when you usually head to bed, correct?"

Samantha sighed and began to stand up, "I suppose. Not that it really matters. I only go to bed early to get a head start on my farmin' in the mornin'. There ain't much point in going to bed early when there's no farm to tend to."

"Ah, but your eyelids are drooping," Arthur pointed out, taking her hand in his. "And you are beginning to sway off to the side."

"'M not," Samantha argued, standing up when Arthur did. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Yes, whatever you say darling," Arthur said while beginning to lead his daughter up the stairs and into one of Matthew's guest bedrooms; the one Francis was currently accommodating. "I'm sure Francis won't mind letting you stay in here for tonight, seeing all that has happened today."

Samantha pursed her lip, "I don't got any pajamas..."

"You may sleep in one of my shirts if you like, or perhaps Matthew has some sweatshirts you may borrow," Arthur said kindly, leading Samantha towards the room's bed.

"What if French-Fry creeps in here?" Samantha asked with a wide yawn. "I don't know if I can put up much of a fight right now..."

"If he so much as gets the idea of doing so, I will chop off all of his hair and castrate him where he stands," Arthur said with a slightly dark undertone. "He will not bother you tonight, that I can promise you."

Arthur let go of Samantha's hands as they came to the bed, and turned around to head out of the room.

Samantha looked at Arthur as she sat down on the edge of the bed, "Dad..."

"Yes?" Arthur asked as he paused in the doorway on his way to search for a sweatshirt.

"...Will you tuck me in?"

Arthur stood unmoving in the doorway, staring at his daughter with a slightly baffled expression. Arthur's lips curled upwards into a kind and genuine smile, and he nodded gently.

"Let me find you a shirt first," Arthur said before exiting the bedroom.

He walked back down the stairs in search for Matthew, hoping that he might lend Samantha a sweater. They were bound to be much warmer than his own cotton shirts, and warmth was what she needed. When Arthur noticed a blur of blond hair enter the kitchen he assumed it to be Matthew, and followed it quickly.

"Matthew? May I bother you for a-"

Arthur froze on the spot when the blond figure turned around to face him. His

"Hm, usually people mix Mattie and I up the other way around," Alfred muttered.

Alfred stood there, holding a coffee mug with a red maple leaf on it. His jacket was missing, along with his pants, leaving him standing in nothing but a 'Captain America' T-shirt and his American flag boxers.

"Alfred!" Arthur gasped when he saw red splotches on Alfred's shirt and skin. "What the devil happened to you?"

"Nothing, we'll worry about it tomorrow," Alfred said, searching Matthew's food cabinets. "I'm too tired to bother with it. Let's just say, my super-villain side came out tonight."

Arthur began to retort, but stopped himself, "...Alright. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

A silence blossomed around the too, growing awkward to the point that it began to feel heavy on the two. Alfred pulled out a jar of coffee, and began to brew himself a pot.

"Mattie should really get those coffee things I have, where they only brew one cup at a time," Alfred said indifferently. "It sounds stupid, but they are actually very convenient."

Arthur nodded, though his gaze was piercing, "I heard of those."

The silence came upon them once more as the two men thought to themselves. Arthur was about to go off in search for Matthew once more, when Alfred broke the silence.

"...How's Sam?"

Arthur folded his arms, "Tired. I think she's angry at you, but to be honest I'm really not too sure. Today has been a rough day for her, and I'm sure a good night's rest would do her some good. That, and I think that someone should prepare a large breakfast in the morning. I do believe that she's lost weight, which we both know is not a good sign when it comes to being a country."

Alfred nodded, staring at the coffee pot intently.

"Well, I should be off," Arthur said. "I told Samantha I would find her a nightshirt to sleep in."

Alfred lifted his head to look at Arthur, "I have one she could use. She's used it before, actually."

Arthur raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Pardon?"

"Sleepovers," Alfred explained. "A few decades back, some of the states and I would have sleepovers. They usually just started off as hanging out, but we would stay up so late into the night that they just decided to sleep at my place. Samantha never did remember to bring her pajamas, just in case."

Arthur relaxed slightly, "Oh, I see. Well, could you fetch it for me?"

Alfred nodded, exiting the room to get his shirt. He returned to Arthur with a blue, long-sleeved shirt, with a white star in the middle.

"It should be pretty big on her, so it would almost be like a nightgown," Alfred said as he waited for his coffee to brew.

Arthur turned to Alfred, "Your knowledge of her is started to bother me, Alfred."

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, though Arthur could see him lower his head to hide his face.

"Well, thank you Alfred," Arthur said as he began to head back towards Francis' room. "Sleep well."

Alfred nodded, seemingly ignoring Arthur.

Arthur walked back towards his daughter, to find her peeling off her dark blue socks. Arthur chuckled at this, and made his way over to her.

"You really do like blue, don't you?" he asked.

Samantha nodded, "I've always liked blue."

Arthur held out the shirt he held to her, "Here."

Samantha paused to stare at the shirt, and for a long while Arthur hoped that she would not become angry. He did not even bother to think how she might have felt about Alfred giving her a nightshirt after everything that had happened between them.

"...Is Alfred back?" she asked softly.

Arthur nodded, "He just returned a few moments ago. He doesn't really want to talk right now, though, but he said he'll tell everyone what happened during his absence, tomorrow."

Samantha nodded, but said nothing. She quickly grabbed the shirt, and turned away from her father. Arthur took that as a hint to momentarily exit the room so she could change, but just before he did so, he glanced back at her. Facing away from him, she was staring down at the shirt in her hands, which were tightly clenched into fists.

Arthur waited outside after he shut the door behind him, listening for Samantha to permit his entry once more.

"_Oui,__bonne nuit, Matthieu,_" Arthur heard a certain Frenchman's voice drawing closer towards the hallway.

Francis stopped at one end of the hallway, staring at Arthur curiously. Eyebrows raised at one another; Francis' out of confusion, and Arthur's as if he were daring Francis to question his motives. Francis walked forward, his blond hair flowing behind him. With every moment that he drew nearer, Arthur began to feel further threatened. There was, in fact, only he and a door separating the perverted Frenchman and his daughter.

"_Angleterre__?__" _Francis questioned as he drew to a halt in front of the Brit. "Iz zere somezing you are hiding from _moi_ in my bedroom?"

Arthur shook his head, "Samantha's in there."

Francis frowned slightly, "May I ask why?"

"She has had a rather horrid day, and I thought it best to have her sleep in a bed and not the couch," Arthur said with a shrug. "I did not think she would really wish to stay in Alfred's room, and Matthew has already done so much for us, it would be rude to ask him for more."

Francis whined, "Ah, but _Angleterre!_ That bed waz zo comfortable!"

Arthur stuck his tongue out, "I think you can make it one night on a couch."

Francis folded his arms with a huff, "You could 'ave at least asked."

"There was no time," Arthur said, looking back at the door, wondering what was taking Samantha so long.

Francis continued to stand in front of the Brit, obviously not too pleased with his sleeping arrangements. Of course, he would gladly offer Samantha his room for a night. As much as he disliked Arthur, he could understand why the Brit was doing what he did, and if it were Matthew he would do the same. One night in a chair, or on a couch, would not hurt him. His bed head, maybe, but that could be fixed with some Magic-French-Styling-Techniques.

"Why are you still here?" Arthur questioned, looking back at Francis."If you even have the slightest notion that you are will be joining my daughter-"

"Of courze not! I 'ave my limitz!" Francis said with in mock hurt. "She haz been through too much today, and zat iz ze last zing she needz."

Arthur relaxed a tad, and nodded in approval, "Good."

"I waz merely waiting to fetch my wonderful zilk pajamas," Francis said. "I do not zink sleeping in zese clothez would be very comfortable."

Arthur shrugged, "They never look comfortable."

"Actually-"

"I'm done."

Arthur's head snapped towards the door as his daughter's voice was heard from behind. It was almost so soft that he did not catch it. Arthur opened the door and peeked inside to make sure she was decent, just in case he had misheard, and he did not want the frog to see.

Samantha was sitting up in the bed, covers off, and her clothes thrown in a pile on the floor. She twiddled her thumbs in anticipation of her father's arrival, not really remembering what it felt like to have someone tuck one in at night. The last time she remembered it being done, she was only at waist's length. In fact, it was only done because she had been found crying behind a rather large cactus. She had been extremely young at the time.

Arthur turned to France, "Get your clothes, and then get out."

France huffed at Arthur's rudeness, but decided not to argue for Samantha's sake. He walked over to his suitcase (Arthur was still surprised that he had only brought one) and pulled out silk nightshirt. Arthur raised an eyebrow as Francis zipped his suitcase, and began to walk back towards the door.

"I didn't think anyone still slept in those," Arthur commented. "I haven't seen one since the beginning on the twentieth century."

Francis shrugged, "Old habitz die hard, you should know zat."

Francis turned around at the doorway and looked at Samantha, "_Bonne nuit, ma petite Texas Rose.__"_

When he left, Arthur finally relaxed. He walked over to Samantha, and pulled the covers over her bare legs gently. She laid down as he did, and squirmed until she found a comfortable spot. Arthur patted the blanket slightly, making sure she was secure and warm, and then sat down next to her. He brushed her bangs away from her eyes, and soon found himself staring into the deep brown orbs.

"You have your mother's eyes," he said softly, leaning down to kiss both of them. "Though, I do believe they suit you better."

Samantha smiled weakly, "Do I?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, and her hair. If I didn't know any better, I might not believe you were actually my daughter. You resemble Spain more than anyone..."

Samantha yawned, "Everyone says that."

Arthur gently grasped Samantha's hands in his, and gave them a small squeeze, "Well, sleep well, Samantha."

He began standing up in order to exit the room, but Samantha quickly grabbed hold of Arthur's sweater-vest. He looked back at her to ask for her to release him, but the moment he caught sight of her eyes, he melted and became putty in her hands. Samantha never realized this, but if she truly wished it, Arthur would do anything and everything that she wanted. He had an especially difficult time saying 'no' to her.

"Stay...?" she asked softly, her eyes filled with sadness.

She had asked him the same question before, many years ago. At that time he told her 'no', and left her to stay with Alfred. Looking back at the memory, Arthur realized just how much he must have hurt her. She was still very young, and unlike Alfred, she was in need of her father. He was partially the reason she turned out the way she did. He never stayed with her, and he had never been there to raise her. He never saw her make her first discoveries, nor had he ever been there to comfort her when she needed it the most. It was one thing for him to not have been there for Alfred, but it was another to not have been there for his own flesh and blood.

Saying 'no' was the biggest regret Arthur had ever made in his life.

...This time, he refused to make it again.

"Alright," Arthur said, crawling on top of the bed to the other side.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his chest. Samantha held him back, letting out a sigh of content before beginning to drift off into sleep.

"...Thank you..." she whispered, before losing consciousness.

Arthur felt a pang in his heart, and he could not decide whether to cry or laugh. Instead he settled with a small smile, and he kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, Samantha," he said softly, holding her close. "I love you."

And he did, he truly did.

* * *

Alfred stared down at the dark brown liquid in his coffee mug, staring at his reflection. He looked ghastly, and he could feel a bruise begin to form on his left eye. The Mexicans he had caught red handed in the Alamo just a few hours before, who were trying to steal gift shop items, knew how to fight. Of course, Alfred knew that they were simply a distraction to what was actually going on _inside_, but by the time he managed to enter, everyone had left, including Mexico's personification. In the scramble to flee from the American, however, the Mexican dropped a very important clue as to what he was doing in there; a key, in fact.

Did Samantha know?

She always seemed to find out whatever it was that Alfred did within her borders, even if it was something so simple as stealing an apple from a tree. If she did know what Alfred had recently been up to, however, he highly doubted she would simply be getting ready for bed.

Alfred stared down at the small silver key that he had been holding in his left hand, the intricate designs swirling elegantly around the handle. Alfred had picked it up the moment he caught sight of it. He did not know how that Mexican bastard had gotten hold of this...

...but he knew exactly what it opened.

* * *

**Yes, I know none of you know who Nessie is. It's a mystery...for y'all anyway. x3 And no, it's not the Lochness Monster...even though that would be awesome. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review if you can! And yes, I will explain how Alfred managed to get from Texas to Canada in just two hours at the most. ;)  
**


	5. Chapter 5: Façade

_Winds rolled across the prairies, causing the tall blades of grass to sway to and fro in unison. The breeze was warm, and it was the only noise heard for miles. The yellowed grass bent as a rush of wind blew across the small hills, revealing hundreds of bluebonnet buds that had begun to grow. The small blue flowers would soon grow to such great heights and numbers, that the ground would resemble an ocean from the distance. The grass stood tall once more as the wind reverted to a gentle breeze, hiding the bluebonnets in their shade. The sun shone down upon the grass through clear blue skies, keeping the prairies from turning into a bright shade of green. The sun was hot, but the breeze kept the temperature of the area at a comfortable warmth. _

_A small, chubby, slightly tanned hand reached down to touch a budding bluebonnet, refraining from picking the flower and instead stroking it with great care. Brown eyes, filled with pureness and love, scanned the flower in admiration. Lips curled upwards, revealing a row of pearly-white teeth._

"_Alejandro!" a small voice called out. "__Vengan y vean!"_

_A __young man, appearing to be in his teen years, walked up to the small figure crouched in the prairie grass. His expression was hidden underneath the large sombrero on his head, and his own brown eyes watched as the young girl continued to stare at the bluebonnet as though it were the most amazing thing in the entire world. Alejandro fiddled with his green, cotton shirt as he grew impatient with the girl. _

"_Samantha," her name rolled off of his tongue easily. "__¡Date prisa!"_

_The girl turned around with a pout, "Pero Alejandro-"_

"_No Samantha, tenemos trabajo que hacer hoy,"__ Alejandro said with a sigh. "__Las tortillas no se dan a__..."_

_Samantha sighed, not wanting to get back to work on making tortillas, and giving the flower one last glance with a small smile etched onto her face, she stood up and walked next to Alejandro. He looked down at her small, brown hair-covered head which only reached up to his thighs, and let out a slightly exasperated sigh._

"_Samantha, ¿cuántas veces te he dicho que usar un sombrero fuera?__" Alejandro scolded, pointed out that she was not wearing a hat._

_The sun was especially bright that day, and he would not allow her head to burn because of it. Antonio would never forgive him...nor trust him to watch over anything or anyone ever again._

"_...Lo siento," Samantha murmured sadly._

_Alejandro reached up and removed the sombrero from his head, and knelt down in front of the small girl. She fiddled with her own brown, cotton dress, and stared down at her bare feet. Alejandro placed the hat on Samantha's head, and smirked as it nearly swallowed her from size._

_Samantha giggled as the hat fell over her head and reached the tip of her nose, "__gracias, pero creo que es demasiado grande__..."_

_Alejandro smiled and lifted it back so her face was uncovered, and held out his hand for her to take, "__Vamos a ir a casa__."_

_Samantha took the tanned hand, and followed Alejandro back towards the large hacienda house they lived in. She giggled merrily the entire way home, completely oblivious to any world problems. As the two of them walked, the sun began to set behind them, reverting the sky to a scarlet hue. The yellowed grass appeared to be slightly brown under the red light, and the winds began to still as the day drew to an end; the calm before the storm._

_Behind them, the small budding Bluebonnet began to wilt as the air grew cool._

* * *

"Wow Matthew, how long have you been in here?" Arthur nearly exclaimed as he entered the kitchen.

There were stacks upon stacks of saucer-sized pancakes on various counter tops around the kitchen. The smell was very welcoming itself, but the view of the fluffy, brown, Canadian pancakes was enough to make Arthur's stomach growl. He had not had a homemade meal in many years, and had had to admit that he would look forward to devouring Matthew's delicious-looking pancakes.

Matthew turned around at the sound of Arthur's voice, and smiled kindly, "Oh, good morning Arthur. Would you like some pancakes?"

Arthur did not think it would be possible for Matthew's voice to be any more quiet, but apparently morning drowsiness proved him wrong, because his voice was nearly inaudible.

"Why yes, that would be lovely," Arthur nodded with a small smile. "Though, do you think you may have perhaps made, just a smidgen, too much?"

Matthew shook his head with a grin, "You forget how much Alfred eats."

Arthur's eyebrows raised in realization, "Ah yes, of course."

Arthur walked over to a plate of pancakes, and glanced over to his left at the Canadian. Matthew caught his gaze, and gave the Brit a sweet smile.

"You know, you really didn't have to go through all of this trouble," Arthur said.

"I know, but I was hoping that my pancakes would cheer everyone up a bit. I hate seeing everyone so upset," Matthew said quietly, flipping a pancake. "I wish we could all just be happy together for once, even if only for a day or two."

Arthur stared down at his plate of pancakes, nodding in agreement, "You learn quickly, Matthew."

"Um...p-pardon?" Matthew asked, stuttering in confusion.

Arthur smiled sadly at Matthew, "It takes most countries quite a while to figure out just how different we are from humans. Some still haven't, actually."

Arthur walked over to the table, and Matthew followed him after turning off the stove. Arthur grabbed a bottle of maple syrup, and began to pour it over his pancakes. He watched as it gracefully oozed over the cake before the fluffy bread soaked it all up.

"You see, it is believed that we, the country representatives, are the most powerful and well-off beings in the entire world. That automatically leads most to think that we can have whatever we want, whenever we want it, because we are better than the humans," Arthur said, taking a small bite of pancake.

"Well...I don't think we are better than the humans," Matthew said with a small frown.

"Good, you shouldn't," Arthur said. "But most do believe that. Even some of the countries believe that they are better than humans, and most have had the idea at least once in their life. I did too, but it really didn't take me long to discover the truth."

"Excuse my rudeness, but where exactly are you going with this, Arthur?" Matthew asked.

Arthur chewed his food and swallowed before he replied, "There are many things that separate us from humans. Power, near-immortality, age, our rankings...and so much more. However, the one thing that separates us from humans, the very exact thing that not one country has ever proved wrong, is the fact that we, as countries, can never be truly happy."

Matthew stared at Arthur in mid-chew, not knowing how to reply to his statement.

"Every country has its ups and downs. One moment you are the best in the world, or at least think you are, and then the next thing you know you are having to build cuckoo clocks for France seven days a week," Arthur explained, sighing. "But more importantly, as countries we can never have love. That is actually something that Francis is very aware of, something that he is not completely oblivious to. It is also one of the only things we can ever agree on..."

"But Papa is always going around kissing women, and talking about true love," Matthew said.

"And when has he ever actually had it?" Arthur asked, leaning forward. "I know this is all very depressing, but it is the truth. When have you ever seen Francis actually in love?"

Matthew opened his mouth, but then closed it, "I-I don't..."

"If I remember correctly, there was only ever one woman he ever loved," Arthur said softly. "And that was Joan of Ark, which is fairly self-explanatory."

"Did...did she love him back?" Matthew asked with wide eyes. "I know she died young, but did she at least love him back?"

Arthur's eyebrows pressed together, "I honestly don't know, that is something you would have to ask him."

Matthew leaned back, shaking slightly, "Poor Papa..."

Arthur sighed, "I'm sorry, Matthew. I did not mean to spoil your morning, especially after you went through the trouble of making everyone breakfast."

Matthew smiled softly, "It's alright. I'm just glad you remember who I am."

Arthur let out a chuckle, "I don't forget you, I just mistake you for other people. You really do look a lot like Alfred, especially at the back of your head."

Matthew scratched his neck absentmindedly, "I know...that's why I forgive you every time you do."

* * *

The one early-riser in the entire household was Samantha Kirkland, and yet she was the last one to wake up. By the time she did, it was nearly lunchtime, and Alfred had disappeared yet again.

"It's kind of funny, usually you are the one to wake me up in the morning whenever you visit," Matthew said as Samantha stood sluggishly in the doorway.

She shrugged nonchalantly, "Are those pancakes for me?"

Matthew nodded with a smile, "Help yourself, everyone else has already eaten."

"Alfred hasn't," Samantha pointed out with a yawn.

"How can you tell? Were you secretly awake or something?" Matthew asked.

Samantha yawned yet again, "No. I know, because there are still pancakes left for me."

Arthur, Francis, and Matthew each laughed at her comment. Samantha rubbed her eyes tiredly, and Arthur stared at her in confusion.

"How are you still tired?" Arthur asked. "I know you went through a lot yesterday, but you still slept for quite some time."

Samantha grabbed some pancakes and sat down next to Arthur, "That was once I fell back to sleep."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked confused.

Samantha poured maple syrup on her pancakes, and smirked, "You, my dear father..."

Samantha took a bite of her pancake, and sighed as the delicious flavor filled her mouth. She swallowed and looked up at her father with a teasing glare.

"...Snore," she finished, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Arthur was taken aback by her comment, and began to stutter. Francis let out a loud fit of laughter, having to hold the table for support. Matthew chuckled quietly, trying not to be rude.

"I-I do not snore!" Arthur retorted, folding his arms in annoyance.

"Yeah ya do," Samantha said. "Incredibly loud, actually. It woke me up, and it took me about three hours to finally fall back'ta sleep."

Francis continued to roar with laughter, earning a sharp glare from the Brit.

"Shut it frog!" Arthur exclaimed, clenching his hands into fists.

Samantha nudged her father under the table with her foot. Arthur looked back towards his daughter, only to find her grinning at him. She chuckled under her breath and looked back at her pancakes. Arthur groaned in annoyance, but remained silent.

It seemed as though nothing bad had happened to her the previous day, because her demeanor lacked anger and stress. She appeared tired, but her mood was the same, cheeky mood that it had always been. Arthur should have been grateful that she was not upset, but it simply bothered him.

"So, where iz Alfred?" Francis asked curiously. "Haz anyone even seen 'im?"

"I did," Matthew said softly. "He was leaving right when I woke up. He said he had to go check something, and then just disappeared."

"He probably used the tunnels," Arthur muttered. "If he did, then he must have done the same thing last night."

"But, uzing tunnels iz very tiring, _oui?_" Francis said, frowning. "He couldn't 'ave possibly done it two days in a row like zat."

Arthur nodded, "Exactly. He's up to something."

Samantha frowned, chewing her food slowly. Francis turned to look at her, and when she caught his eye he raised an eyebrow.

"What French-Fry?" Samantha asked. "Do I got somethin' on my face, or am I just amazingly beautiful?"

"Ze latter, but zat is not important," Francis said with a shrug."I just thought zat you might know what Alfred iz doing, zince you know him better zan us."

"I thought I did..." Samantha said softly, and then a scowl took over her features. "My guess is as good as yers."

Arthur pushed Samantha's bangs out of her face, "So, more importantly...how are you feeling?"

Samantha let out a loud sigh, "Honestly? I feel...sad. Kinda depressed, ya know? I mean, the weather's better, and things are warmin' up, but I still can't help but feel like little bits of me have been torn out."

"Because of all the deaths?" Arthur asked.

"No, it's because of all the funerals," Samantha said. "For me, when someone dies it hurts for a moment and then the pain goes away. But, there is always the after-effect, or for lack of better words, funerals. Plus, it doesn't help that I try to go to my people's funerals whenever I can...and I doubt it's physically possible for me to do that now. Too many deaths...too many funerals...too much crying..."

Arthur rubbed her back, "We understand, believe me."

Francis nodded, "_Oui."_

Samantha blew a stray hair from her face, "I also feel kinda...edgy."

"Edgy?" Matthew asked, slowly going wide-eyed.

"Yeah," Samantha muttered. "Exactly my point."

"Why, what's going on?" Arthur asked.

"The last time I remember Samantha feeling 'edgy', Johnny Cash died," Matthew said simply.

Francis raised an eyebrow, "Zo it iz like an omen?"

Samantha shrugged, "I dunno, I just feel-"

Samantha cut off, tensing up.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Someone...is..." Samantha shot up from her chair, a icy glare forming on her face. "In my Alamo _again!"_

She ran out of the room, and returned with an armful of her clothes from the day before. She began throwing them on hastily, not caring if anyone was watching.

"Samantha, slow down!" Arthur exclaimed. "What is the matter? What is this Alamo?"

Samantha froze, and turned to her father with a look of disbelief. The expression she held was as if Arthur had smacked her in the face.

"What?" Arthur demanded.

Samantha eyes narrowed, "I can't believe you don't at least know that much."

Samantha threw her arms forward, and a large purple orb appeared in front of her. The orb swirled mystically, as though one were looking through the top of a tornado. It was cloudy, nearly ominous in appearance, and yet no danger came forth from it. The orb sat in midair, waiting for the Texan to enter towards her destination.

Samantha jumped inside hardly any hesitation, and disappeared not a split second later without a trace.

"Samantha!" Arthur cried out in frustration. "Where did she go?"

"She went to the Alamo," Matthew said, with a worried expression on his face. "It was a fort during one of her many battles with Mexico, and now it's a famous landmark."

Arthur stared at Matthew curiously, "And how exactly do _you_ know this?"

"Like I said, it's a landmark. Everyone knows about it, kind of like the Grand Canyon, or Big Ben," Matthew replied. "Plus, when you hang out with Samantha, you have to remember what to, and what _not_ to talk about."

"And I suppoze the Alamo iz somezing that she bragz about a lot?" Francis asked. "I mean, if it iz a landmark-"

"Actually, the Alamo is something that you should _never_ bring up," Matthew said fearfully, as though Samantha were listening. "I know that she lost a battle at the Alamo, but I don't really know what happened to be honest. I'm not sure I want to either, considering how she tends to act when it's brought up..."

"How does she act?" Arthur asked curiously.

Matthew pursed his lip in through, "Angry. She always gets really angry."

"She's gets angry a lot," Arthur muttered. "I swear, somehow she must have ended up with Alistair's genetics..."

"Who's?" Matthew asked quietly, as Arthur began muttering to himself.

Francis leaned in and whispered, "Scotland."

Matthew nodded in realization, "Oh..."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air, "Well now what? We can't go anywhere, or do anything! You can only use the tunnel for your own land! It's not like I can just zap myself in my daughter's country!"

Francis' eyes widened, and his lips curled into a smile, "Or can you?"

Arthur stared blankly at the Frenchman, "What are you getting at, frog?"

Francis smiled, "You 'ave magic, _oui?_ Why don't you uze it?"

Arthur sighed, "I didn't bring my wand..."

Matthew snickered, and Francis rolled his eyes. Arthur folded his arms, and thought deeply. He wanted to make sure his daughter was alright, and did not do anything reckless. Besides, he _really_ wanted to know what this Alamo was, and why it was so important.

"Of course, there is always _Eanchainn_ _Draíocht,_" Arthur spoke, mostly to himself, as he paced the room. "And _Dubh Draíocht..._ But I'd rather not use that..."

"_Quoi_?" Francis asked.

Arthur glanced up at Francis through narrowed eyes, "If I wanted you to know, I would have spoken English, now wouldn't I?"

Francis huffed, and folded his arms.

Arthur sighed, "Well...I could always try to use a tracing spell, but I haven't tried using mind sorcery in quite a long time... And to add onto that, I could never pull it off no matter how many times I tried. I was always much better with Black Magic."

"Oh _oui,_" Francis said sarcastically. "You can tell it affected uz all."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, "The majority of the time I accomplished what I needed to. I am very subtle with my magic."

Arthur stood, looking towards the ground, thumb pressing against his bottom lip, and thought fixedly to himself. There was a legitimate reason he often used his star-pointed wand, no matter how silly or odd it seemed to others. To transfer one's magical abilities through a firm, touchable object, such as a wand, helped ease the burden on oneself while practicing sorcery, witchcraft, or even black magic. It simply made it easier to cast spells, and practice magic. To perform a magical spell without a wand would prove extremely difficult, if not impossible. The person doing so would have to be extremely powerful in the art of spell-casting, and Arthur was honestly not sure if he was up to the task.

"Many centuries ago, I could have cast the spell without a second thought," he said softly, reminiscing. "But, I'm not quite as young as I used to be, nor as powerful..."

"Try, _mon ami_," Francis said simply. "Just try."

"It's not that simple! One slip up, and I could accidentally conjure a Russia clone or something!" Arthur exclaimed. "It's happened before, and believe me...it was bloody scary."

"Well, what do we do then?" Matthew asked. "If you can't do it, then how are we supposed to get Sam in time?"

Arthur frowned, "It's impossible to reach Texas in such a time limit, even if we were already on board the fastest jet in the universe."

"But we 'ave to be zere to make sure nozing bad happenz to Samantha," Francis said, folding his arms in thought. "Besidez, I doubt she 'az enough strength to create anozer tunnel..."

"And apparently you can't transport us there," Matthew said softly, motioning towards Arthur.

Arthur frowned, "Look, if I honestly believed I even had the slightest chance of being able to do it, I would. Alright? But I really, and honestly can't! There are few who could, and-"

Arthur's eyes widened as he sucked in a large breath of air, snapping his fingers in realization. Francis and Matthew turned to him curiously, wondering what was so shocking or important. Arthur let out a relieved laugh, and placed a hand on his hip proudly.

"I've got it," Arthur said with a smirk. "I may not be able to do it, but I know someone who can."

Matthew smiled widely, and Francis sighed in relief, "Who?"

Arthur's smirk faded slightly.

The Brit let out a small groan and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I can't believe I have to do this."

"What iz it, _Angleterre__?"_ Francis questioned.

Arthur sighed, "Nevermind, it's for Samantha. Here, hold my hands."

Arthur held out his hands for the two men to grab, and soon a large purple orb appeared in front of them. Arthur jumped inside, taking the two others with him. They were quickly transported to their destination; Coldstream Northumberland England, otherwise known as the closest to where Arthur wished to be.

None of the three men seemed to care that they were still in their pajamas.

As each of them touched the ground, the orb disappeared behind them. The three men took in their surroundings; trees, green grass, a few houses, beautiful scenery, and cloudy weather as per usual. Arthur sighed, obviously glad to be home, and he spun on his heel to face the two men behind him.

"Alright, we are in England," Arthur said simply. "However, we are on the very border of England. The reason for this is, well...I can't transport anywhere else other than England."

"I waz under ze impression zat you could transport anywhere in ze United Kingdom?" Francis said in confusion.

"Yes, well you were wrong as usual," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "Now, I'm warning you...the moment I step foot onto land that is not my own, he's going to show up demanding answers. Now I want you two to behave, _especially you, frog."_

"Wait, who's coming?" Matthew asked softly.

Arthur sighed, "You'll see."

The three of them walked through the small town of Coldstream, saying hello to a few passersby. Francis and Matthew began to zone out, enjoying the fresh air, when Arthur stopped them immediately in their tracks.

"Stop," Arthur said. "We're here."

Francis looked at Arthur, "And where exactly are we? All I zee iz grass."

"And flowers," Matthew added.

Arthur bit his lip, "Well...it's now or never. We need to get to Samantha as quickly as possible, so..."

Arthur slowly took a rather large step forward, as though there were a barrier keeping him from simply walking. Arthur shut his eyes quickly, dreading the oncoming storm, but frowned and opened his eyes when he saw that nothing had happened.

"Wow, _mon cher,"_ Francis commented sarcastically.

"Shut up frog!" Arthur growled at Francis. "Just shut up! I'm not crazy!"

Francis placed a hand on his hip, and Matthew cowered away quietly, "Oh, _oui. _It must 'ave been 'ard to take zat step forward."

Arthur glared at Francis, "You just wait, he'll be here!"

"Who?" Matthew asked.

"My brother-"

"OI! WHA' 'AVE I TOLD YE ABAET COMIN' ON MA LAND?"

A head of scarlet hair appeared not a yard behind Arthur, with a scowl that could kill. The man's eyes were deep blue like the sky, his skin was pale, his arms and legs were hairy, and his hair was wild. He wore a dark blue kilt, and yet it only seemed to enhance the masculinity that radiated off of him. Matthew was reminded of Samantha when he saw the man; crazily dressed, and yet still as terrifying as ever.

Arthur froze, turned his head slowly, and then turned back and began to quickly walk back to Coldstream, "You know what? I think this was a horrible idea, we should head back."

A large, calloused hand grabbed the Brit's collar, and yanked him back, "Oh, ye ain't gooin' nowhere, ye li'l prick!"

Francis nodded in realization, "Ah, Scotland. Never mind, I zee what you are scared of now."

"I'm not scared! You're the one who's always running away, so just shut up!" Arthur growled, trying to pull away from his brother. "Alistair! Let me go!"

Francis sighed dreamily, eying the man's legs, "Oh, _mon dieu,_ he even makes kilts look masculine."

Alistair and Arthur both turned to the Frenchman with disbelieving gazes, and Alistair rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Alistair let go of me!" Arthur demanded, whacking his brother's hands.

"Nae!" Alistair growled. "Ye had tae interrupt ma dance festival, so yaer goin' ta tell me wha' yer doin' here!"

"Oh, was that t-today?" Arthur asked meekly, fingering his collar. "I was not aware-"

"TELL ME, ARTHUR!" Alistair yelled, angrily.

"SAMANTHA!" Arthur yelled back. "I'M HERE BECAUSE OF SAMANTHA!"

Alistair stared at Arthur for a moment, before loosening his grip, "Well why did ya nae say so?"

Arthur rubbed his temples, and Francis snickered.

If there was one thing that he and Alistair could agree on, it was that they wished for Samantha to be safe.

"Wha's wrong with ma niece?" Alistair asked, his scowl changing to a look of worry.

"Well, I'm not sure," Arthur said. "But first I need your..._assistance..._in performing a transportation spell. I can't do one, and we need to get to the Alamo as soon as possible."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, "Yer askin' faer me help, Artie? I'm so flattered."

"Just stop, Alistair," Arthur glared at his brother. "This is serious! I'm honestly, and truly worried about my daughter!"

Alistair nodded with a sigh, "Alrigh', come with me. I need tae fetch ma wand.""

He snapped his fingers, and a glow of blue light surrounded the men. When the light disappeared the three men took in their surroundings. It was dark, dreary, cool, and a slightly decrepit aroma hung in the air. The floor and walls were all made of aged stone, some crumbling from old age. Moss grew in a few of the corners in the room, and cobwebs littered the area.

"Good gracious, Alistair! How could you let it get so filthy in here!" Arthur inquired, rubbing his nose as dust fell from the ceiling.

"Are ye here tae chastise me? If so, then ye can jest leave," Alistair said with narrowed eyes.

"Where are w-we?" Matthew asked.

Alistair turned to the Canadian, and tilted his head, "Who are ye?"

Matthew began to stutter, not sure if he should be fearful of the man, "I-I'm Canada...b-but you can call me M-Matthew..."

"Oh aye! I didnae see ya there for a wee moment!" Alistair laughed loudly, and clapped Matthew on the back. "And tae answer your question, we are in ma dungeon. Well, one of em anyway..."

Arthur sneezed, "And apparently one that has not been well kept."

Alistair raised his fist to bring down upon Arthur's head, when a soft, musical hum was heard. It was a very soothing sound, and yet somewhat mysterious and enchanting. The hum belonged to the voice of either a man, or a very manly woman. Alistair lowered his fist, and rolled his eyes.

"Cormac, quit yer lolly-gaggin'," Alistair commented, in a slightly amused voice. "I'm nae fallin' fer that trick again, ye li'l leprechaun."

There was a giggle, and a bright green light surrounded the room. A man with a head of bright orange hair appeared right beside Alistair, causing Francis and Matthew to jump. He wore a forest green dress suit and pants, and a white shirt underneath. He also sported a donegal cap on his head, had freckles on his face, and wore a large, toothy smile. He tipped his hat politely, bowed slightly, and gave out a merry chuckle once again.

"Howya!"

"Wha' are ye doin' here?" Alistair questioned, folding his arms. "Ye've gotta quit poppin' up everywhere!"

"Oh! Are we havin' a meetin'? Why didja nae tell me, ya eejit!" Cormac demanded playfully, poking Alistair in the arm. "If I'd known, I would have dressed professionally!"

"Please don't," Arthur muttered. "I hate when you dress like a leprechaun. You always sparkle..."

"Aye," Cormac winked. "Although, may I ask, Artie...what on this good green earth's name is a Lucky Charm? Because that numpty of an American keeps askin' me if I want some everytime I see 'im."

Arthur smacked his forehead, "Forget it, let's just move on, shall we?"

"Aye," Alistair said, turning to Cormac. "I have'tae perform a transportin' spell to Sam."

"Our Sam? Ye mean wee little Samantha?" Cormac asked curiously. "Why? Did she nae invite me over? Too good for ol' uncle Cormac, I see."

Alistair smacked Cormac in the head, "Shut up, ya moron. If ye must know, there's somethin' wrong with her, and Artie needs a way to get to her as soon as possible. Now shu' up so I can concentrate."

Cormac's smile faded, "Somethin's wrong with Samantha?"

Arthur shrugged, "I have no idea. The last thing she did was transport herself to her country, saying something was in her Alamo, whatever in the bloody hell that is."

Cormac tilted his head, "Well, I could ge' us all there in a split second."

"NAE. I was goin' tae do it!" Alistair complained.

"Aye, but I can do it faster," Cormac winked at Alistair. "I've more practice."

"Fine," Alistair muttered. "But don't forget Matthew over thaer, he's a shy one...would'nae want ye tae forget 'im."

Cormac rolled his eyes, "Does it look like a came up the lagan in a bubble? I can see him."

Cormac snapped his fingers, and a rush of green smoke surrounded the men. They were transported with a soft 'pop!', before roughly falling into dirt, face-first. Cormac brushed his clothes off, being the only one who had not fallen onto the groud. He chuckled merrily, smirking at his brothers.

"Sorry, I havenae transported so many people in quite a long time."

Alistair stood up, straightening his kilt, "Obviously, ye green git."

"No need for language, dear brether," Cormac giggled.

"Yer creepy, ye kun?" Alistair said nonchalantly, as Cormac leaned forward with a wide grin.

"Ay, so ye've said," Cormac said. "Or ye could jest be borin'."

Arthur stood up, shaking dirt out of his hair, and glanced at his surroundings. There were paved roads a few feet away from where he stood, and a few trees surrounded them. There were some odd looking bushes, and cactus everywhere, along with a few patches of yellow grass. However, everything on the ground was lightly covered in a blanket of snow, seemingly out of place compared to the surroudings.

"Where exactly are we?" Francis asked.

"San Antonio," Cormac said thoughtfully. "I think."

"You think?" Arthur asked is disbelief. "So you aren't sure?"

"Not really, no," Cormac said. "But I am certain we are somewhere in Texas. ...I think."

Arthur sighed, and began walking towards the road, "Well there is only one way to find out."

"Ay, let's look for a sign or somethin'," Alistair said, glancing around the area. "I'm sure we arenae tha' far from-"

Alistair's next words were brought to an abrupt halt as the ground shook violently beneath everyone's feet, creating a sound similar to that of thunder. Pigeons fled from the surrounding trees, and a loud gunshot rang through the air. Arthur turned towards his brothers frantically, recognizing the sound immediately.

"That was Samantha's gun," Arthur breathed. "She must be around here somewhere!"

"I heard it from tha' way," Alistair said pointing towards the paved road.

Arthur spent no more time fooling around, and sprinted through the trees. His thoughts were directed only towards his daughter's wellbeing, and he refused to let something happen to her. The current state of things as they were, were bad enough.

Francis, Matthew, and Arthur's brothers followed after him without second thoughts.

Arthur continued to run, never faltering in the slightest, until he reached a clearing. The paved road he had been following connected with other roads, and there were buildings everywhere he turned. Everything was covered in a thin blanket of snow, and there were no humans present. All of the surrounding shops and resteraunts were closed, most likely due to the odd weather.

"The Alamo is here somewhere," Matthew said in between breaths as he caught up with Arthur. "I've seen pictures..."

"Yes, but where?" Arthur muttered, furiously turning his head every which way.

Another gunshot rang through the air, and there was a loud, frantic cry that followed. The cry was most definately male, and he judging by the sound he had been wounded. There were muffled voices and yells, along with a loud bang.

Arthur took in a deep breath, and eyed his surroundings warily. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he instinctively brought his hand to his left hip as though drawing a sword. Arthur waited patiently, knowing exactly what to do.

"Artie, what are ye doin?" Cormac asked curiously.

"Shush," Arthur hissed.

The group of men glanced around themselves, waiting for another bang or yell to take place. Francis bent down and carefully picked up a stray stick, ready for any sudden attacks. Matthew quietly reached into his sweatshirt pocket, and drew out a pistol, hoping that he did not have to use it. Cormac rubbed his hands together, and Alistair drew out a dagger from his sock. The only reason any of the men did so was simple; Arthur knew what he was doing. He had previously represented one of the greatest empires the world had ever known, after all.

Arthur stared forward, waiting patiently for the sign. To find whatever one was looking for, no matter what it was, even the subtlest signs could make all of the difference.

Then it came, in the form of a small rumble and a flock of terrified pigeons in a tree ahead.

"They are that way," Arthur pointed, taking no time in running towards the tree.

Arthur sprinted at full speed, not caring that his throat began to constrict slightly from fatigue. His heart hammered against his chest roughly, and his feet were freezing. If only he had remembered to wear something more than socks...

He did not care. He did not care a single bit.

His daughter needed him, after all, and that was all he knew. He had never been there for her in the past, and the guilt of their history (or lack of) overwhelmed him.

Arthur forgot to look where he was going, and nearly had his head blown off by a gunshot. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned to see whoever was responsible. His daughter lowered her hand, and gave him a look of fury and disbelief. She said nothing to him, and instead turned away with an angry growl.

Samantha was standing on the opposite side of a rather large, yellowed building, six-shooter in hand, with a look of pure and undeniable rage on her face. Her hair was still down and blowing astray, only adding to her look of insanity. Her skin was abnormally pale from the cold air, which caused the illusion that her eyes seemed to have a darker hue than normal.

Alfred was quickly spotted on the left side of Samantha, quite a few feet away from her. He was holding something in his hand rather tightly, and his face held a mixture between anger and fear. He was wearing his normal attire, which led Arthur to believe that he had been out and about for quite some time. His blue eyes held a look of frustration, and he was staring directly at Samantha as though waiting for something. He caught Arthur's gaze for a moment, causing Arthur to stiffen. The gaze was held for such a brief moment, but Arthur knew that look anywhere. It was the same look that Alfred had given Arthur during the Revolutionary War, and a look that Arthur had hoped to never see again. His face was firm, his jaw set, but his eyes spoke in such great amounts from inner turmoil. It was the look that Alfred always held whenever he was about to do something that he truly did not want to do.

For a moment, Arthur could not figure out why either of them were standing outside of a building. That is, until he noticed a two men standing outside of the building's doors. They looked to be brothers, but Arthur could not be sure. They both had very tanned skin, and brown hair. The man on the left had short, messy, brown hair, dark brown eyes, and wore a dark green, longsleeved shirt, with a pair of jeans, and tennis shoes. Arthur recognized him as Mexico's representative almost immediately, due to the nearly identical appearance he and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo shared. However, Arthur had absolutely no idea who the other man was. His hair was a tad longer than Mexico's, his eyes were a light brown, and he wore a dark blue T-shirt, a jean jacket, jeans, and a pair of what appeared to be cowboy boots. He looked an awful lot like Mexico, and yet completely different. He appeared to be slightly more adventerous, and a little younger.

He did not look happy.

"Samantha," the young man spoke softly. "Please understand-"

"I understand perfectly," Samantha said in monotone, holding her gun like a lifeline.

The man looked guilty, and Arthur wanted to know why.

"Samantha-"

"AND YOU!" Samantha growled, pointed her gun at Mexico. "I don't EVER want to see you again! My trust in you has completely disappeared! So GET OUT!"

"Sam-"

"GO BEFORE I SHOOT YOU!"

Mexico's jaw was set, and his hands curled into fists. The younger man turned to Mexico with an angry expression.

"This is your fault," he hissed.

Mexico turned to the young man with an enraged expression, "I didn't _make_ you come!"

The man bit his lip, and turned to Samantha once more. She appeared to be on the verge of either killing someone, or bursting into tears. The man began to walk towards her slowly, as though approaching a wild animal.

"Samantha, _por favor,"_ the man spoke softly. "We have nothing."

"And you think I do?" Samantha hissed, not lowering her weapon. "Do you know what it's like to have to pretty much completely reconstruct the significance of the dollar bill?"

The man sighed, "Sam, even so you have more money than we do. My people are having to live out on the streets because they can't afford their houses!"

"That doesn't give you the right to try and steal from me!" Samantha growled angrily. "I would never have done that to you! You have absolutely no right to be here, on my land, and I am going to ask you one more time to get the hell out."

The man stared at her with a hurt expression, before lowering his head, "_Lo siento, mi amada."_

The man turned away and waved his hand, causing a tunnel to appear before him. He quickly jumped in, leaving Mexico to fend for himself.

Mexico fingered his collar, "Eh heh..."

Samantha lowered her gun, and stomped over to him; her expression murderous. Mexico quickly tried to make a run for it, but Samantha grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Somehow Samantha managed to hid her gun in her pants without a holder, and then she drew her arm back into a punching position.

"Sam don't!" Alfred cried out, running over and grabbed her arm before she could hit the Mexican. "Don't start a war!"

"Shut up Alfred!" Samantha cried out, struggling in Alfred's grip. "Let me at 'im!"

Alfred pushed Samantha away, causing her to stagger a bit before regaining her balance. She pursed her lip in anger, and was about to hit Alfred when she saw the sight before her.

Alfred grabbed Mexico by his shirt collar, and leaned forward until they came eye to eye, "Alejandro Rodriguez..."

"S-si?" Mexico stuttered a bit, swallowing.

"You get the hell out of here, and don't you _ever_ come back without permission. I've had enough of you lately, and this is the last straw," Alfred said in a low voice. "And if you ever try to steal from Samantha again, I swear I will start another war with you, _and you will lose."_

Alfred let go of Mexico, and Mexico brushed off his shirt. Mexico formed another tunnel in front of him, and turned to spare Samantha a small glance.

_"Adios, Samantha," _he said softly. "I'm sorry."

With that being said, he jumped in the tunnel and disappeared without a trace.

Arthur looked at Samantha, and saw her expression form into one of sadness. She wrapped her arms around herself, and began to walk past Alfred towards the building behind him. She refused to acknowledge the fact that he had just saved her from having to partake in another war. Alfred stopped her, and looking at the snow beneath his feat, he outstretched his hand.

"They dropped this yesterday," he said slowly. "I believe it belongs to you."

Alfred dropped a small key into Samantha's hand, which she gratefully took. She looked up at him with an odd expression, and gave him a polite smile, more out of habit than actual gratefulness.

"Thanks," she said lowly, before walking into the building.

Alfred sighed, and caught Arthur's gaze again. Arthur's closed his mouth after realizing that it had been hanging open, and he frowned.

"What the hell just happened?" Arthur demanded.

"Ahm so bloody confused," Alistair muttered, scratching the back of his head.

Arthur stormed up to Alfred, "Where the hell have you been, what just happened, and what in heavens name is an Alamo! I need answers! Now!"

Alfred chuckled without humor, "Well, I've been here, waiting for Mexico to show back up. He was trying to steal money from Samantha, really valuable money, which is located here. And the Alamo..."

Alfred turned and pointed at the building, "Is this."

Arthur stared blankly at the building, "This is the Alamo?"

Alfred rubbed his neck, "Yup."

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow, leaning on one leg to glance at the building. His nose crinkled up, and he turned back to Alfred with a small frown.

"I'm honestly not very impressed," Arthur muttered. "But don't tell Samantha I said that."

Alfred smiled, "That's because you don't know the story."

"Obviously not," Arthur huffed.

"Ask Google," Alfred shrugged. "He should be able to answer any questions on the Alamo you have."

Arthur folded his arms, "You know I don't trust Google."

Alfred pursed his lip and began to walk away, "Suit yourself, but..."

He turned around to spare Arthur a small glance, "Time your questioning well, if you're going to ask Sam."

Arthur turned around with a huff, "Why don't you just tell me?"

Alfred looked away, "I...well...I wasn't exactly here when...well, the bad stuff happened. I was here for part of the battles, but I left to get help."

"Alfred, please, just tell me," Arthur said. "Just, the important bits!"

"All of it was important," Alfred said, turning around. "Sam fought worse battles than the ones at the Alamo, but the Alamo was the one that had the most effect on her, and there are a lot of reasons why. It's stuff that isn't in textbooks, or Google, it's stuff that she would never share with anyone."

Alfred walked up to Arthur, and shoved his forefinger onto Arthur's chest, "If you really want to know the entire story, ask your daughter."

Alfred turned around and walked away, greeting Matthew and Francis softly.

Arthur stared at Alfred with a deep frown, quarreling with himself inside. Matthew had told him to never bring anything about the Alamo up with Samantha, and yet there Alfred was telling him that she was the only truly reliable source besides Google (which Arthur did not trust with a ten-foot pole). Arthur wanted to understand Samantha's pain, but at the same he was, dare he say it, afraid to ask her. She was more like him than he thought; defensive about her past.

"Dad, why don't you have shoes on?"

Arthur turned around to see somewhat concerned Samantha, giving her a smile, "Oh, I seem to have misplaced them."

Samantha sighed and eyed her father, "More importantly, how did you get here so fast?"

"Magic," Arthur said simply. "And your uncles."

Samantha's eyes widened slightly as she quickly glanced behind her father and spotted one of her uncles, "You mean...?"

Arthur nodded with an exasperated sigh, "Yes."

Samantha's face broke into a grin, "Uncle Scot! HEY!"

She bounced over towards her Scottish uncle and threw her arms around him, catching him off guard for a moment.

"Oh, hello Sam," Alistair chuckled, hugging his niece. "How 'ave ye bin farin'?"

"Decently," Samantha smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Oi, wha' abaet me?" Cormac demanded, giving Samantha a pout.

Samantha smiled, kissed Cormac's cheek, and gave him a hug, "Hello Uncle Cormac."

Arthur could not believe how quickly Samantha's mood switched from enraged to joyful. He folding his arms with a pout, glaring holes into his brothers' heads. His brothers always treated Samantha like a princess, due to the fact that she was the only female in the family. She always loved it whenever her uncles visited, which was not very often. She would hardly ever leave their side, bombarding them with questions, hugs, kisses, and offering them glasses of iced tea. They would spend hours on a couch, laughing, and his brothers would cuddle and tickle her until she could not breath. Whenever it came time for them to leave they would give her kisses, spend at least another hour saying goodbye, and give her hundreds of reasons for her to visit them.

Whenever Arthur visited, Samantha would give him a smile, hug him, and then return to whatever she had previously been doing. Sometimes, if he was lucky, they might have a long conversation before bed, usually consisting of 'how have you been' 's, and 'anything new' 's. She would offer him meals during his visits, but she would never offer him tea. When he had to return home, she would hug him, and tell him to have a safe trip.

Needless to say, Arthur did not appreciate the way his brothers stole all of his daughter's attention.

He glared at Alistair as the Scotsman kissed the top of Samantha's head, and Arthur's eyes narrowed as Cormac whispered something in her ear, resulting in a small giggle.

"Jealouz, _mon ami?_" Francis whispered into Arthur's ear, causing Arthur to jump from surprise and turn red.

"No! Of course not! Don't be absurd!" Arthur huffed, turning to walk away from the Frenchman.

Arthur strode towards the Alamo, staring at the yellowed walls, wondering what could have possible taken place. The only logical explanations were that it had once housed someone important during a war, or was perhaps a meeting place. He already knew that battles had taken place in the area, but what was so special about this particular one was a mystery to him.

Arthur glance back over his shoulder to the group, and caught Samantha's gaze. She was staring at him with a frown, her eyes slightly distant. She was always very good at hiding her emotions, but he could tell that whatever Mexico had been doing here had obviously taken its toll on her. If there was one thing he understood about his daughter more than his brothers, it was her emotions. He understood her, he understood the slight changes in her expressions or attitudes, and he understood why she seemed to act the same way no matter the situation.

She was more like him than anyone realized.

* * *

**I don't like this chapter. I feel like I didn't really spend enough time on it, but lately I've had a pretty tight schedule. I'm sorry for the really late update, but I didn't really have any time to do anything. Also, don't expect another update for a while, because I'm going to be away from my laptop for a few weeks due to traveling. **

**So, constructive criticism/reviews are appreciated, and I promise that I read them all. And thanks for any cool information that could be used for this story, I always like learning stuff, and it might be used at some point.  
**

**Thanks for reading, you are awesome. :)**


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